


The Black Book of Pearl White

by AllenbysEyes



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: 1930s, Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Human, Antisemitism, Anyone can die, Chinatown references, Classic movie references, Corruption, Double Agents, F/F, Fascism, Gen, Golden Age Hollywood, Historical References, Los Angeles, Major character death - Freeform, Past Pearlapis, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Slow Burn, Undercover Missions, vigilantes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2019-06-19 20:06:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 67,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15517581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllenbysEyes/pseuds/AllenbysEyes
Summary: Historical/Human AU set in 1939. Once, Pearl White was a rising star in Hollywood. Now, her career destroyed by scandal, she offers her services to the Diamond Company, one of southern California's largest companies, and one of America's only woman-run businesses. But Pearl isn't exactly looking for a new job...she's working to unravel a bizarre conspiracy of Nazis, corporate crooks and criminals working in tandem to make California their own fiefdom.





	1. The Girl With Champagne Hair

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to my latest historical AU Steven Universe fic! I've been researching American fascist and far right movements in the Depression era for another project, so it seemed worthwhile to dovetail it with my fic writing. Sadly this means that I Was a Communist for Rose Quartz! will be on hiatus for the foreseeable future. Hopefully you will enjoy this story instead! 
> 
> Special thanks to Pearletariat (Pearl Defiance) and geeksandnerdsruletheworld for helping me flesh out the concept on Tumblr and offering suggestions, details and encouragement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter than I usually write, I know. But this idea's been swirling around my brain for ages and I at least wanted to start!

**February 10, 1939**

Pearl couldn't help it. No matter where she went, no matter how bland she tried to appear, no matter how long it had been since her last movie, people recognized her.

_The Girl With the Champagne Hair_

She'd seen that nickname, dreamed up by Darryl F. Zanuck in one of his more expansive moods, embossed on a thousand trailers and a million advertisements. And she'd seen that famous portrait of herself, looking coyly over her shoulder, her pink-orange hair (much longer in those days) dappling down her shoulder, a winsome twinkle in her bright blue eyes, her already long nose caricatured into a needle-like point, more times than she could count. And she had to imagine that other people had seen it as often, too. 

When she went out, she did her best to be inconspicuous. She'd cut her hair short and usually wore it under a hat, so it was barely noticeable. She dressed drably and functionally most days, unless there was some reason to draw attention to herself. This morning, as she prepared for a quick cup of coffee, she wore a frumpy blue-and-white dress, her telltale hair hidden beneath a pillbox hat. Hoping that it made her look as plain and unappealing - as anonymous - as possible. 

Which was a sacrifice in some ways, because she'd always liked wearing fancy dresses and flashy jewelry, enjoyed the flash of cameras and blur of reporters, sometimes even didn't mind attending an event on the arm of a leading man or director or producer (provided, of course, that they didn't try anything untoward, or display an affection that she couldn't return). 

A sacrifice, but a necessary one.

Because nowadays, when people thought about Pearl White, they remembered the abrupt cancellation of her last picture, the whispers that she and the studio tried to keep quiet. And the one that nearly made it to print anyway.

**DAMES OR DYKES?**

**HOLLYWOOD STARLET IN LOVE NEST WITH LADY LOUNGE SINGER**

Even by the standards of Hollywood gossip columnists, the unadorned slur seemed especially cruel and malicious. It still seared Pearl's memory. Her jaw hit the floor when her agent Jack showed her the headline.

"Don't worry, Pearl," Jack tried to assure her between nervous puffs on his cigar. "Studio's shutting this paper down before it hits the press. They're gonna fucking fire the hack who printed this and make sure she never works again."

Pearl didn't care whether it was stopped. She found the headline **mortifying**. Because she knew, even if the story was squashed and buried and the papers pulped, the whispers would get around anyway. In the press. Among people in Hollywood. Among those in the Breen Office and Legion of Decency who kept their eyes and ears peeled for anything to turn their noses up at, anything vaguely indecent to block a picture or wreck someone's career.

And she hated it for another, more obvious reason. 

Because it was true. 

* * *

 "Coffee and newspaper, please."

"Hey, aren't you...?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"No, you look like an actress I saw in some movie awhile back. It was a Western or something..."

"Must have mistaken me for someone else."

"No, I don't forget a face. Hey Ernie, what was that Western we saw with Randolph Scott last year? The one with the cattle barons shooting each other?"

"Christ, that could be a million of 'em. Be more specific." 

"Well, get out here. Doesn't this lady look like the dame from that movie. You know, the one with the pink hair." 

"... _Wow_. Man Scott, you're right. Forget the face, that hair..."

"All right, you've got me. It's Pearl, Pearl White. Nice to meet." 

"Man, it's not often we get a movie star in here."

"You're too kind. I'm not really a movie star anymore..."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll get another job. Gal like you they're not gonna keep on the bench for too long. Hey, would you mind giving an autograph? My kid will go nuts if he finds out I had an actress in here and didn't..."

"Maybe some other time. Kind of in a hurry today."

"Sure. Which paper do you read?"

"You wouldn't happen to have _EPIC News_ , would you?"

"EPIC? Which one's that, the Hearst paper?"

"Never mind.  _Daily News_ , please."

"Comin' right up."

"Hey, uh, Miss White..."

"Pearl's fine."

"Pearl, wow. _Me_ , on a first name basis with a movie star! Anyway, erm, what's Randolph Scott like?"

"He's a nice enough fella, I suppose. Really good on a horse."

"Yeah?"

"Much better than me, at least. Though that's not saying anything. I'm sure you heard about my finger..." 

* * *

Pearl didn't mind the small talk overmuch. Two working stiffs like Scott and Ernie didn't keep their eyes too close to the scandal sheets, and weren't likely to bring the . It was a bit awkward - she never knew quite how to handle people who regarded her with such awe, but it was a nice reminder that she _mattered_. 

She sipped her coffee in a booth, trying her best to remain incognito (since Ernie had to take off before he could ask her whether Brian Donlevy was as mean as he seemed), dribbling a little coffee on the front page of her paper and trying to smear it out with a napkin. She saw the usual dread stories about the world events crowding the margins: **CHAMBERLAIN PLEDGES PACT WITH FRANCE; MINORCA FALLS TO FRANCO: NATIONALIST OFFICIALS SEEKING ASYLUM IN FRANCE; HITLER AND CZECH GOVERNMENT FAIL TO REACH NEW AGREEMENT.**

And felt sick to her stomach, knowing she couldn't do anything about any of them. 

 _Same old, awful world,_ Pearl thought sadly, stirring her coffee. _Fascists are trying to kill everyone and no one in this country gives a damn. Because it could never happen here, even though there are millions of lost souls in this country who'd welcome a dictatorship. And many more who hate Jews and Negroes and Communist and anyone else who's different and would follow anyone who found a way to blame things on them._

Or, she thought, because it wasn't good business. Which is an excuse she'd heard, many times, about projects that expressed an opinion on world events being cancelled by studio. 

Sure, there was the occasional shit heel who liked Hitler and Mussolini in Hollywood, but they were usually actors and screenwriters of dubious politics. She didn't give a shit what Ward Bond or Adolphe Menjou or Mary Pickford thought about anything, though she realized that many did. She was more irritated at the press barons and industrialists and politicians who still winked an eye at Hitler, even after _Kristallnacht_ and Munich and Spain and everything else awful, and acted like people who got worked up about it were irrational, or fanatics, or that there was something  wrong with being angry about the death of Western Civilization at the hands of jack-booted barbarians. That possessing a conscience was some kind of mental illness. 

She'd heard all the arguments a million times, from a variety of people. Never convincing, and rarely in good faith. 

_After all, do you **really** want another war? Wasn't the last one with Germany awful  enough? Why do you insist on demeaning or antagonizing them? And anyway, aren't the Communists **worse**? _

But the cowards got to Pearl most of all. The producers who claimed that they hated the Nazis but wouldn't run a picture dimly, vaguely, even allegorically critical of the Fuhrer and his Italian sidekick for fear of losing oversees lucre or offending political. The ordinary people who didn't want any disruption in their daily lives, and so let awful things happen. And worst of all, the polite circles who couldn't _stand_ fascism and hated what was happening Over There but found it more upsetting that someone might refer to Hitler as a buffoon or a clown, or when President Roosevelt called Nazi sympathizers Copperheads.

How does that help, they'd ask, not really wanting an answer. Won't that just make them _angrier_? And it might even alienate some other people who are on the fence. 

_Better for democracy to die than for people to get upset._

Though really, Pearl mused to herself, what had _she_ done about it? Keep making money for being pretty while doing nothing? Sit here and pass judgment on others in her head? Maybe stopped talking to a costar or a stage hand who suggested that maybe Hitler was a little rough but Mussolini and Franco were more reasonable? 

Pearl's mind swirled around for a moment, allowing her guilt and helplessness to consume her. And horrifying images flashed through her mind. Nightmares which seemed more credible every day.

She pictured Stukas divebombing helpless American towns and armies of enemy soldiers attacking. 

She pictured Hitler and a chastened President Roosevelt negotiating the German occupation of America. 

She pictured Dr. Goebbels shaking William Randolph Hearst's hand at San Simeon as they negotiated circulation rights in the New German World Empire.

She pictured Brownshirts marching down Sepulveda Boulevard, and her standing meekly aside, doing nothing (or worse, hiding) as they killed her friends and coworkers. 

She pictured herself _getting caught_.

She felt the table shake and realized that she'd subconsciously clenched her hand into a fist and punched the table, splashing more coffee on the table. Frantically, she began dabbing it with her napkin, feeling her heart race with terror, hoping no one had noticed her little outburst.

Fortunately, there wasn't anybody else in the restaurant except Scott, who'd gone back in the kitchen. 

Pearl took a few deep, heavy breaths and turned back to the paper. Beneath the spreading brown liquid, she saw another headline that seemed more .

**LOCAL LAND DEVELOPER FOUND DEAD IN SAN GABRIEL VALLEY**

**FORMER CITY COUNCIL MEMBER HAD TIES TO DIAMOND COMPANY**

Pearl skimmed the article, only passively interested at first. Politics in Los Angeles County were as corrupt as sin, and there was always some feud over land ownership or water rights or oil pipelines that went on with dizzying regularity. Business-related murders came and went with the passing of the seasons. Pearl wished she could be shocked or disgusted, but it couldn't faze her. Just another rotten thing she'd learned to live with. 

Still, the connection to the Diamonds intrigued her. She knew they were one of, perhaps the only, company run by women in the United States, and would find them admirable if their politics weren't so abominable. She knew their leader, a stern, matriarchal spinster named Azuria Diamond, had chaired the local chapter of the American Liberty League, the rich man's organization devoted to destroying the New Deal. 

So she kept reading. And hit upon another nugget buried within.

"Mr. Schroeder, before resigning from the Diamond Company, had cited the organization's politics and business connections as a reason for their dispute. Additionally, he noted that the land was adjacent to property owned by William Dudley Pelley, leader of the so-called Silver Legion or Silver Shirts..."

Christ. _Another_ fascist. And this one, right here in L.A. 

And connected to one of California's biggest businesses. 

Which didn't really **shock** Pearl. But the immediacy of the threat made her heart race, and her guilt compound with fear.

She knew Pelley slightly, back when she was just starting in the industry and he was still peddling screenplays to Tom Mix and Lon Chaney. Struck her as a pompous man with a weird little van dyke beard and a constantly harried, frazzled attitude, rushing from one moment in life to a next, chased by invisible enemies. Since then, by his own account, he'd died, gone to Heaven, and received instructions to rescue America from Jews and Communists by making himself into the American fuhrer. Funny how that works. 

Most people considered Pelley a crank or a nutcase, and he probably was. But then, so was Hitler once upon a time. And since he had thousands of uniformed followers, many in California, Pearl felt laughing at him wasn't an option.

 _Especially_ if he had the Diamonds on his side.

It took a moment for her mind to connect the threads. But she tossed the newspaper aside and bent down over the table, trying to think. Trying to untangle everything. And trying to fight down her inevitable internal monologue.  

_Well, Pearl, you wanted a chance to fight fascists? You wanted to make a difference?_

_Well, maybe God and the Daily News have just handed it to you._

The question remained **how**? And Pearl didn't have any clue.

"Oh my goodness! Honey, it's Pearl White!"

Pearl snapped out of her thoughts and saw a young, starstruck couple beaming at her from the next table. She forced a smile, pushing her crowded thoughts to the back of her mind. 

For now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes: Pearl White was the name of a real silent movie actress in the '20s, most famous for starring in _The Perils of Pauline_. She was well-known for doing her own stunts and action scenes in movies, which entailed no small amount of personal risk. Her career waned with the advent of talkies and she retired and moved to Egypt, dying in 1938 at the age of 49.
> 
> Obviously, this isn't *exactly* the same Pearl White; I coincidentally gave Pearl that last name in a previous story, The Family Jewels. When a friend pointed out that Pearl White was an actress, my brain made the connection and I had to use it here! That said, I may incorporate elements of the real Pearl White's life and career for our Pearl as we flesh out her backstory.
> 
> William Dudley Pelley is a real historical figure: he was a novelist and screenwriter who suffered a near-death experience and emerged from it a fascist with delusions of grandeur. We'll see more of him as the story goes along. 
> 
> I worried that the concept of a female-run company was anachronistic, and it's still probably a stretch. But a quick Wikipedia search informs me that the first American woman to co-run a company was Clara Abbott in 1900, and there were a handful of women on different corporate boards by the late '30s, most notably Lettie Pate Whitehead, who served on Coca Cola's board for twenty years. So it's enough within the realm of possibility that I'll work with it.


	2. Dicks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: Azuria is Yellow Diamond. I initially called her Aurelia (which would reflect her color) but somehow slipped into Azuria after the first chapters, and decided it was easier to change the few Aurelias than the Azurias. Sorry for the confusion.

Pearl didn't trust the old adage that you couldn't judge a book by its cover. A _book_ , maybe, since it's an inanimate object, a thing designed to entertain and move copy and possibly receive a film adaptation. It couldn't change its mind, couldn't dissemble, couldn't hide any secrets that aren't discovered by the final chapter. It couldn't lie, in other words. It couldn't betray you. 

A  **person** , though, was something different. Just by looking at their dress, their surroundings, their manner of speech, you could tell a great deal. Maybe it was the actress in Pearl talking; how easily her directors coded characters with elaborate dresses and spiffy suits and different colored outfits. How in one picture she'd be a heroine in virginal white, in another a temptress wearing a scarlet dress. But she found that it was a fairly reliable rule in real life, even if there were nuances that films didn't always capture. Even if you had to sort out dishonesty from truth using observation. 

Fortunately, with Peridot Mulwray, what you saw is basically what you got. A blunt, opinionated woman who kept a messy office, with peeling striped wallpaper and a few perfunctory pictures, who dressed in mannish outfits and smoked constantly and liked putting her feet on the desk (yet her blonde hair always seemed immaculately spiked). Pearl didn't know whether she loved or despised her. 

"Dear Christ, Pearl, you're like the  _eighth_  person asking me about this today," Peridot said, absently blowing smoke rings in the air. "Some corporate bigwig gets drilled just before a land deal goes through. You think you'd be the only one asking questions about this? Big deal. Same business as usual in L.A. County. Someone gets involved in grift, has a change of heart, then welches and gets killed. Probably some out-of-town hoods brought in special for the occasion. 

"And you know what's gonna happen? Nothing. Zilch. Not a damn thing. Nobody's gonna go to jail for it. Nobody's gonna find out who did it. Might get a few headlines until some money changes hands and then even they dry up and find some broken-down starlet to cry over. And whatever awful grift was going on goes through anyway. The fat cats benefit and everyone else gets hosed. Story of L.A. Story of America."

Peridot leaned back and blew another puff of smoke into the air, letting it dangle overhead. Pearl watched her with some annoyance, trying to puzzle out the appropriate response. She wished that she didn't have to play head games with Peridot every time they spoke. 

"You should write a book," Pearl said finally.

"You can't _pay_ for my kinda wisdom," Peridot replied.

"Well, I didn't come here for your cheapjack cynicism," Pearl insisted. "Could get that from a bar stool anywhere. I came here because I want your help. And you know I wouldn't come to you, of all people, if I didn't need it."

"Yeah." Peridot said, in a blank tone carrying the weight of their history together. She finished her cigarette then leaned forward, rubbed out the butt in an ashtray and put on a pair of thick, awkward-looking spectacles. 

"So what's your connection to this case?" Peridot asked, immediately slipping into Detective Mode. "You know Schroeder? Know the Diamonds? Have some stake in the land? Angry you won't be able to film another Western in San Gabriel? Tell me, because I'm curious. Sincerely." 

It seemed more a challenge than a request. Pearl realized she needed to sell her acquaintance on the case quickly and succinctly. 

"The Diamonds," she muttered. And Peridot's face immediately scrunched into a scowl. 

"Yeah?"

"What do you know about them?"

Peridot thought about this for a moment, then shook her head. "Sweetheart, if it's Diamonds you're after, get 'em yourself. You couldn't pay me enough..."

"Oh, I wasn't planning to pay you at all," Pearl said. 

Peridot's eyebrow arched. "How's that?"

"I wasn't planning to pay you," Pearl repeated, smirking sardonically. "I figured that you'd be intrigued enough about the case to take it pro bono."

"Have we **met**?" Peridot asked, acting deeply offended. "The only thing I like more than a good smoke is a nice fat buck in my pocket."

"I don't think so," Pearl responded, challenging her. "I remember you helped that girl who was being hounded by the Vice Squad..."

"That was different," Peridot snapped. 

"Or that EPIC worker who had their house torched by the Klan..."

"They _couldn't_ pay me. That was the difference then." 

"Or those Okies who had their life's savings stolen by a crook with the WPA..."

"All right, all right, all right! But you're missing the thread here. Those were all people who couldn't pay, and who needed help. Maybe I have a heart somewhere inside here-" She dramatically tapped her chest, subconsciously licking her lips. Pearl smiled more broadly, knowing she'd struck a chord with Peridot, whether or not the little blonde admitted it.

"But you just come to me asking me to investigate a high-profile murder that has some bigwigs involved with no obvious connection to you...just because you're _curious_. Now, you see the difference?" 

"I hoped the novelty of my request might intrigue you."

Peridot became stone-faced, not sure how much Pearl was pulling her leg. Pearl retained the same smile as before, challenging her acquaintance to make a decision.

"Besides," Pearl added, "it isn't _just_ curiosity. You might say I have a personal interest."

She absently stroked her nose twice with one finger. Peridot didn't seem to notice.

"And if this is what it looks like, it could be something...much bigger than just land."

"I'm not good with 'bigger,'" Peridot grumbled, slipping back into her chair. "Gimme a routine surveillance of an unfaithful husband any day..."

She considered it for a moment, then stood and walked over to a cabinet. Muttered something under her breath, then opened the second drawer and pulled out a folder. 

"The Diamond Company," she recited, "incorporated in 1912 by Eustace E.H. Diamond of Anaheim. Currently based up in Fullerton with about 60 full-time employees and numerous agents and operatives. Company nominally headed by Mr. Diamond's widow, Bianca Diamond, who is incapacitated and headed by her eldest daughter Azuria. Sits on a board with her two sisters, River and Rose. She's a tough cookie, a pill. A bitch, in common parlance. Very politically involved. Very Republican in the Ham Fish, Du Pont way, not the Wendell Willkie way. _Very_ big in L.A. and southern California. Knows everybody important, gives money to a lot of them for different things, even pretends some of them are friends when it suits her. Lives for her business and nothing else. Wants to prove that she's a bigger man than any man."

"I don't need the Freud," Pearl said. "Just tell me about them."

"The Freud's indispensable, sweetheart," Peridot insisted. "No other way you can discuss this. Talk about a messed-up family..."

"Misogyny isn't any more appealing coming from you than anyone else," Pearl snapped. "I'm up to my ears in people acting like the mere fact of women owning a company is queer..."

"Oh they're queer all right, but maybe not in the way you mean." And Peridot produced a self-satisfied smirk at her little pun. Pearl didn't dignify it with a response. 

"Azuria doesn't give you much humanity. No husband or squeeze of any kind, so far as I know. Was engaged when young to a boy who died in the Great War, which apparently shriveled her up. No sense of humor. Not even the ability to smile from my experience with her. Treats everyone like dirt beneath her feet, whether they're employees or fellow businessmen or politicians. Most imperious woman I've ever met. Probably deeply unhappy, but that's my amateur, not clinical opinion.

"Now River. I _know_ she is deeply unhappy. She's been to a sanitarium outside the city a few times for, what they call melancholy. Tried to kill herself, I think. Definitely had shock therapy, I've seen the records...Oh, don't look so surprised. You _know_ I know this stuff, that's why you're here, isn't it? That's why you asked me."

"Well yes, but...I don't expect you to _delight_ in it," Pearl chastised.

"I don't delight, I report," Peridot snapped, rolling her eyes. Enough sentimentality. 

"But yes. She lost her fiancee in a car wreck back in '32 and never stopped crying. I mean, she can barely keep it together so she's not in public much. Don't know if she cares about politics or business the way her sister does. Only met her once or twice and didn't get much out of her aside from a forced smile followed by a torrent of grief. Feel like Azuria has to keep things together for everyone." 

"You said there was a third one?"

"Oh, yeah," Peridot said. "Well, she's not as important."

"Well, tell me about her anyway," Pearl said impatiently. 

"Rose," Peridot responded. "The baby of the bunch. Very cute little redhead. Used to be a socialite, went around town in a souped-up car like a spoiled brat. Still pretty young I think, at least compared to her sisters, and her position seems more symbolic or honorary than doing anything. She used to be very high-minded back in the day. She gave money to Upton Sinclair in 1934 and...well, word on the street is Azuria chewed her out for it. Big time. Hasn't done or said anything political since. But she still finds ways to get attention..."

Peridot reached into her cabinet, beginning to pull out a folder. Then stopped herself. 

"There are, um, some pretty explicit things I could show you..." she began, uneasily.

"I don't need to see it," Pearl assured her. Peridot sighed with relief and shut the door. 

"Well, let's just say...she's not as _chaste_ as her sisters. Her main squeeze is a hack screenwriter who's one of my sources. Don't know if he's ever actually sold a script, but he writes a lot of garbage and hangs around movie sets. But she's quite the pillow talker. And very, umm...If we're being clinical here, let's say _sexually active_. And doesn't seem to have a preference..."

"That's _not_ what I came here for," Pearl cut her off. 

"Well, okay. You want to know if the Diamonds are agents of Adolf Hitler and the Liberty League. Possibly, but if so they've done a pretty good job covering their tracks. It's not a crime, sadly, to have retrograde politics in this country, particularly if you're rich. Does that help? No. Didn't think so."

Peridot sat back down at her desk and clutched her hands together, all businesslike. 

"So what do you want from me?"

"Do some legwork," Pearl said. "Investigate the murder. Find out what Mr. Schroeder knew and why they got rid of him. You know, your job."

"Okay," Peridot said, thinking on it. "Sure. But if I could ask, why don't you do it? I mean, it's not like you're wanting for free time these days..."

"Because I have a different part to play."

"Oh yeah?" This intrigued Peridot. 

"Of course. You didn't think I would let you do **all** the work, did you?"

Pearl dropped her bombshell smile on Peridot, who shivered. It was still effective, whether on a poster or in person. 

"Okay, now I **am** intrigued," Peridot admitted. And her right hand started to tremble for want of nicotine; she held it in place with the other. 

"Well, I'm not really much of a detective," Pearl admitted. "But there are things I can do. Talk. Charm. Act. Whether or not you think I'm Myrna Loy, I can do all those things."

"Uh-huh. I'm not George Cukor, so spell it out for me." 

"One thing the Diamonds like? Women. In more ways than one." And Pearl threw Peridot's little "queer" smirk from earlier back at her. "They like to show themselves as successful, right? I know that much about them. And that it's not a mistake to have women run a company. That's why most of their employees, or at least the high profile ones, are ladies like them. So I go to work for them."

Peridot's jaw practically hit the floor. "You? What on Earth are _you_ gonna do for them?"  

"Do you really think they're gonna say no if Pearl White walks into their headquarters and asks for a job?" 

"Jesus Christ, **somebody** 's self-confident." 

"I try."

"So you get to do all the glamorous spy stuff from the inside while I'm out here doing all the hard work. Sounds fair."

"If you want to be cynical about it...I mean, think what they might do to me if I'm caught."

And Pearl let those words hang there for a long moment, as both of them soaked in the seriousness of their situation.

Finally, Peridot gave in and snatched another cigarette from her desk. 

"All right, Pearl. You've sold me. I won't charge you anything...upfront. Maybe we can work something out later. Amazingly enough, I do like to be paid, especially for something that's likely to get me killed...But I suppose that money won't do me any good if I'm dead."

Pearl nodded. "Sounds fair. And hey, if we bust this thing wide open..."

"...We'll have lawyers and cops and corporate goons after us from here till Christmas. Dunno know about you, but I'm not looking forward to it."

Pearl did feel a stab of fear. She didn't look forward to it. But this struck her as too important to let human failings win. 

"I'll take my chances," she said firmly.

Peridot, a little impressed, took a puff on her cigarette and smiled. "That's what I like to hear." 

The mood felt a little too grim, just that moment. Then Peridot let out a little snicker, laughing at a private joke. Pearl felt a little awkward until Peridot decided to let her in on it. 

"You know what they used to call me?" Peridot said. "Hell, for all I know it's what they _still_ call me. The Dick Without a Dick."

She burst out laughing at her comment. Pearl didn't find it that funny, but forced a few polite chuckles. 

"Because a woman detective was such a weird concept to them," Peridot continued, gesturing and waving her cigarette around. "They couldn't _understand_ it! Couldn't  conceptualize it! Might as well have told them I was a gem being from another Universe! So it took me awhile to get clients until they realized, well, a woman can be just as coarse and vulgar and dishonest as a man. And boy, did I prove that to 'em or _what_?"

She laughed at her joke again. Pearl just nodded. 

"Of course, some people still don't think I'm a threat. Well, I might not have a dick, but!"

She reached into her desk and pulled out a Smith and Wesson revolver with an oversized barrel. It reminded Pearl of those old Buntline revolvers she'd seen in a prop department once.

"This will have to do."

 Pearl's face went wide, then twisted in disdain. She _hated_ guns, even if she'd had to use them in one or two of her movies. 

"How on Earth do you even carry that thing around?"

"It's not my preferred weapon," Peridot admitted, laying the gun on the desk, pointing at Pearl. "A .38's usually fine. But this one's good when I really want to scare some people."

"It certainly scares _me_."

"Well, I imagine they won't let you into corporate headquarters with a rapier." 

"More's the pity. All those months of fencing lessons gone to waste."

"Yeah." Peridot suddenly went glum. "Bad luck about your last picture."

"Yeah."

"You got a bum deal."

"Thanks."

"But people are shit. Cowardly, craven, money-grubbing coprophages. That's one thing I've learned from living in this city. Maybe they're shit everywhere, they certainly were in Chicago and Detroit, but...L.A. seems to bring out the worst in everybody." 

"You aren't wrong."

Peridot stared at Pearl, less starstruck than a friend. And Pearl felt a little more comfortable.

"You worked with Fred Cavens, right?"

"I did! He's quite the taskmaster, but gave me all the lessons I'd need to wield a sword and carry a film..."

Pearl seemed both proud and sad at once, thinking of all the sweat and tears and cramps and hard work she'd put into a movie that would never see the light of day. 

"He's the one who did _Captain Blood_ , right?"

"Yep."

"Wow. To think, if the chips had fallen a little different, you could have been the lady Errol Flynn."

Pearl shook her head, the same confident smirk returning. She inclined her head in profile, posing for the camera.

"Thanks. But I'd have rather been **Pearl White**." 

* * *

Peridot walked Pearl outside. Her office occupied a small office annex with a little central lobby. Late afternoon sun shone harshly through a large window overhead. A few people darted about inconspicuous.

"Well Pearl, I like your moxie. But be safe, all right? This is gonna be a big job and it might hurt both of us."

"Thanks. You too."

"You never know who you'll run into...Hey, speaking of which!"

Pearl turned and froze, spying a tall blonde woman in a brown overcoat walking past them. 

"Jasper Jensen!" Peridot greeted her, seemingly unafraid. "Imagine seeing you way out here!"

"Peridot," Jasper growled without inflection. Pearl saw a deep scar under her left eye and flinched.

"Old acquaintance of mine from Chicago," Peridot said. "Still Jake Guzik's alibi?"

"Get lost, twerp." 

"My _office_ is here. What's  your business here?"

"Need to use the john."

"Wow, you traveled 2,000 miles to take a piss. Must have a strong bladder."

"Fuck off." Jasper looked ready to punch Peridot. And Pearl figured that it would only take one punch to kill her.

"Keep an eye on this one, Pearl," Peridot said. "She's liable to break your heart before she breaks your neck."

Jasper grumbled something else and stalked down the hallway. Peridot looked after her.

"Well, _that_ 's not a good sign."

"What?"

"She's not somebody who's likely to travel all this way for nothing." Peridot clasped Pearl's hands and looked at her with an earnestness she rarely showed.

"Remember what I said. Be safe. Don't do anything stupid." 

Pearl started to make a joke, a show of bravado. But she just nodded affirmatively. 

"Knock 'em dead."

And the two broke apart, Peridot hurrying back to her office, leaving Pearl in the hall with the sunlight dappling over her. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some minor notes here: Upton Sinclair was a progressive novelist and activist most famous for The Jungle. He ran for Governor of California on the EPIC (End Poverty in California) platform in 1934 and lost in a landslide to a conservative Republican backed by most of the state's media and business figures. The EPIC News mentioned in the previous chapter was a publication he started in the late '30s (and should give you an early hint as to Pearl's politics). 
> 
> Jake Guzik was a longtime associate of the Chicago Outfit who mostly handled the gang's financial and legal issues (he was nicknamed "Greasy Thumb" for his ability to fix political deals). The American Liberty League was an organization founded by the Du Pont family to mobilize political opposition to the New Deal, an early forerunner to conservative Astroturf groups like the Tea Party and the Heritage Foundation. Hamilton Fish and Wendell Willkie were Republican politicians of the era; Fish was an ultra-conservative Congressman, Willkie the moderate businessman who ran against FDR in 1940.


	3. Business

**February 6, 1939**

Pearl felt a chill as she entered the Diamond Building.

Overhead on a wall, the Diamond logo, four small diamonds in white, yellow, pink and blue arranged to form a larger diamond. There was a huge portrait of E.E.H. Diamond on the wall, a bald, bespectacled corporate type with a mustache and a humorless face. On the opposite wall was a tall white-haired woman - Pearl guessed Bianca - beaming down with a benevolent, other worldly expression that sent shivers down her spine. 

The interior was all back granite, except for the tile floor and some wood paneling near the reception desk. A small waiting area, empty this early in the day. A few people scuttling about with files and briefcases, not paying attention to Pearl, despite her wearing a pink-and-white dress which flattered her slim figure. 

She approached the front desk, spotting a thin, blonde secretary dressed in canary yellow, her face pinched, sour and unwelcoming. The cold boredom of the seasoned professional. She was reading something, and didn't bother looking up to acknowledge Pearl. 

"Do you have an appointment?" she asked, in a harsh nasal voice matching her appearance.

"Yes, um, well, not really." Pearl fumbled for a convincing lie. "I mean, I think I talked with you on the telephone the other day, about finding work here..."

"Name?" the other woman asked, bored and irritated. She still hadn't faced Pearl.

"Pearl White."

Pearl prepared for the usual shock of recognition. But the blonde remained unfazed, and unfriendly. 

"Yes, you were calling about being an assistant to Miss Rose," she said, pulling a note card from a neat little stack beside her phone and examining it absently. "Well, she isn't in right today..."

"Oh phooey, I come all this way..." Pearl fussed.

"We can give you a call when she's back," the secretary said, with all the obvious insincerity that phrase conveyed. 

Pearl felt like she'd been slapped across the face. 

"Surely I could speak to _someone_ ," Pearl insisted, leaning forward eagerly. The secretary finally looked up and glared at her.

"Ma'am, we are very busy," the secretary protested. "I don't mean to be rude..."

"Well, you're doing a _great_ job of it," Pearl blurted out, deciding a little sauciness couldn't hurt.

" _I don't mean to be rude_ ," the secretary repeated, visibly gritting her teeth, "but we can't just drop everything we're doing to accommodate you. Especially if the person you're asking to see isn't here." 

"I'm not asking to see," Pearl insisted. "I was invited down here."

Not strictly true, but she wagered Blondie here wouldn't know that. 

"Well ma'am, the fact **remains**..." the secretary began, blushing with barely restrained rage. 

"Oh my stars," a quiet voice gasped. 

Both Pearl and the secretary turned and saw a thin woman dressed in a blue polka dot dress standing a few feet away. Embarrassed, she turned towards the wall and covered her face. 

"I'm so sorry," she muttered. "Sorry, sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt..."

Pearl smiled, taking advantage of the opportunity to break away from the secretary.

"It's all right," Pearl insisted. "You didn't interrupt anything important."

She shot the secretary a glare. The woman harrumphed and went back to her reading.

"What's wrong?"

The other woman hugged herself and shivered. Pearl saw that she had dark black bangs hanging down, practically over her eyes. Then she turned and looked at Pearl...

"It's just...You're Pearl White." She said quietly, in a squeaky, demure voice. And her face crinkled into a smile, which made Pearl follow suit. 

"I love that movie you made with William Powell," she continued, slowly working herself into a flustered rhythm. "And that Western, even though I don't really like Westerns. You made it good. And, what was the name of that comedy you did? It had an alliterative name..."

" _Penelope's Problems_?" Pearl offered.

"Oh my stars, **yes**!" the woman squeaked, bouncing a foot into the air. Which startled Pearl, but made her feel a shiver of pride. "I'm sorry, I've seen that movie six or seven times, I'm just so...I can't believe I couldn't remember the title..." 

"You are too kind," Pearl said, putting a hand on her shoulder to calm her. She shivered again, then smiled.

"It's so _amazing_ to meet you," she squeaked. "Truly swell! _Extraordinary_! Wow, what an honor."

Then after a moment, broke into a thought, and tilted her head, fixing Pearl in an awkward, quizzical glance.

"But, um, what are you _doing_ here?"

Pearl chuckled. "Oh, Rose Diamond told me to come in and meet with her, but your, um, friend was just telling me she's not available..."

"Oh, nuts," the other woman said. "I'm sure one of the Diamonds could see you." She grabbed Pearl by the wrist and pulled her back.

"Saffron, don't you realize who this is?" the little woman squeaked. 

"No," the secretary honked, no longer paying attention. 

"Obviously not," the woman fussed. "Oh, where _are_ my manners? My name is Azul. Like, Spanish for Blue. So you can call Blue that if you want." 

"But your given name is so pretty..." Pearl began.

But before she could say anything, Azul pulled her along, past Saffron and into the rear office. Pearl shot her another glare and a smirk, which grew even wider when she saw the secretary was reading an Ellery Queen novel. 

* * *

 

"I can't say I've had the pleasure of seeing any of your pictures," River Diamond said, sitting back in a chair. She had a forced, businesslike smile on her face, with light blonde hair and wide, expansive blue eyes that looked sunken from fatigue. 

"I don't go to the movies that often," she continued airily. "Not that there's anything wrong with a flick every once in awhile, but I prefer the theater all things considered. I suppose that's what you get 

"I don't blame you," Pearl assured her. "Movies are a pretty low-down business." 

"I can imagine," River said with a sad, knowing smile. 

Even sitting there, Pearl could feel the sadness radiating off River. The room, filled with family pictures and mementos, seemed to weep. Pictures of children - the Diamonds as children? An adolescent girl, a young woman looking happy and carefree. A beautiful blue flower pressed into a picture frame. And on her desk, a photograph with River clutching the arm of a handsome young man. 

"Now, unfortunately Rose isn't in today," River continued. "But...you said you talked to her?"

"Yes."

"About being her assistant?"

"Yes."

"Oh. I'm a little curious what attracted you to this position. Surely it's quite a drastic change from being a movie star." 

Pearl sighed and looked down at the floor, hoping she could remember the story she'd dreamed up over the weekend and recited to herself a dozen times that morning. 

"Well," she began, with a slight, hesitant quaver in her voice. "My career hasn't been working out, as you might have known. I haven't made a picture in eighteen months, because...Well, something happened with the studio. One of those bosses...well, he didn't think I behaved in a manner befitting a girl. Didn't...give him what he wanted, in other words. And so when he saw an opportunity to get rid of me, a false story that was gonna hit the tabloids, he latched onto it to trash my career. So I've been without real work for all that time." 

River leaned forward, her chin in her hands, riveted by Pearl's story. Pearl felt a tinge of satisfaction, knowing that her performance had an appreciative audience.

Of course, it wasn't particularly hard - what she'd up til now was mostly true. 

"What attracted me to this job?" Pearl stared at the ceiling for a moment, crossing her legs. Feigning innocence, like she hadn't really thought about the answer at all until just now. Her timing was impeccable.

"Well...I thought it was really neat that there's a company run by women. And I figured, well, I need a job, and I'm not sure about one that's really in my old line of work after...what happened. Besides, I know working for women, I won't run into those problems again."

She gave River a sad, heartbreaking little smile. The kind that, once upon a time, could reduce millions of moviegoers into a puddle of emotions. 

"You poor girl," River muttered, mouth open in sympathy. "Of course, I suppose that's to be expected in the film business. Loose morals are the province of the...artistic types."

Pearl just nodded vigorously. 

"Not that I care that much," she continued. "Until they decide to inflect their nastiness on the rest of the world. It's ungodly and horrifying what gets into movies sometimes. I suppose that's why my sister feels obligated to support the causes she supports...But that's not why we're here."

She fixed Pearl with a maternal gaze and a warm smile that seemed much more sincere (or better-practiced, at least) than before. 

"I don't know if I can make the decision to hire you," she admitted. "That's my sister's prerogative. But you are the type we usually look for, so I can't imagine they'd have any strong objections..."

Pearl scrunched her legs together and shot her a schoolgirl smile. 

"Thank you so much!" she cooed. "I really hope I won't let you down."  

"You can drop the act, dear," River said mysteriously, still smiling. 

Pearl felt a stab of terror, fearing that somehow, some way, she'd been figured out. But River didn't say anything else, instead standing and walking across her office, contemplating a photograph on the wall.

Pearl felt someone pulling on her sleeve. She turned and saw Azul, who gestured with her head to leave. 

Pearl hurriedly obliged, leaving River alone with her thoughts. When she left the office, she let out a heavy sigh of relief.

If she'd known where Azul was taking her, she wouldn't have saved her breath."  

* * *

"I'll be blunt with you, Miss White. I've seen your pictures and I thought they were terrible. Yes, even the one you did with William Powell and Myrna Loy. Dreadful, sentimental pap. Nothing personal, you aren't a poor actress by any means. You're very pretty and have a lot of raw talent. It's just that your selection of movies left a lot to be desired. Or maybe you can blame your agent? But since that's not why you're here, and you're not auditioning for a part, we can move on."

Pearl forced herself to nod along with Azuria's sentiment, not wanting to betray the fear and frustration she'd already seeded within her.

Her office was a complete contrast to her sister's. There seemed very little that was personal, just mementos of business meetings and corporate summits and political banquets. Given pride of place was a picture of Azuria shaking hands with Al Smith, once the liberal Governor of New York smeared by the Ku Klux Klan for being Catholic, now a born-again reactionary shrieking invective at FDR for being a "communist," at some Liberty League event. Always grim and humorless, as she was today, wearing a padded brown work suit, her dark-blonde hair in a severe updo, long earrings dangling from her head. 

Also, she had a portrait of Calvin Coolidge on the wall. Fucking _Coolidge_ , of all people. Not even Herbert Hoover, a miserable failure who at least hailed from California. 

_The Business of America Is Business._

Which, Pearl supposed, was better than Hitler. 

"Now, you wanted to be Rose's assistant? Fine. Here's what that entails. She is a _very_ irresponsible girl. She's twenty-eight and acts like she's half that age. She still goes out with her boyfriends and...other friends every night to do outrageous things. She never wants to do what she's actually here to do. I've practically despaired at doing anything with her. If it weren't for Mother..."

Azuria broke off her staccato, machine gun tone and sighed, putting her head in her hands and slowly massaging her temples, as if seized by a sudden headache. Pearl frankly felt more unnerved by this unexpected show of humanity than anything she'd seen before. 

"Anyway...if you take this position, please understand what it entails. You will be responsible for Rose's actions. You are not only her assistant or her secretary, you are effectively her chaperone. Her _guardian_. Every time she does something unseemly and gets out of line, you will report it to me. If you think this seems harsh, well, it's because you haven't met Rose. I swear she has the mind of a child. I would have her...But that's immaterial. Do you understand this responsibility? Does that sound like something you'd want for your new career?"

Pearl saw Azuria shooting her a harsh, challenging glare, with hazel eyes mingling fury with despair. 

"Y-yes," Pearl stammered, genuinely unnerved. "I think so. I would like to try, at least."

Azuria emitted a rumbling, mirthless laugh. 

"You think so. Well, you have your work cut for you. Report to work first thing tomorrow. I'll make sure Rose is here to meet you. And then-" she let another viper smile curl across her lips - "She can begin training you."

Pearl stood up numbly and shook Azuria's hands. Stiffly, formally. Practically crushing.

She didn't have to act, this time. She was _petrified_.

She practically felt her way to the door, bowing her head in difference. She practically bumped into Azul, who'd been standing silently by the door.

"I'm sorry I didn't warn you," she apologized. 

Pearl just nodded, her arm shaking. 

"Well, I suppose I'll be seeing more of you," she said, directing Pearl back to the front of the office. "I'll try not to bother you too much with questions about your movies, but...My gosh, working with a movie star! I'm sorry, it will take me awhile..."

Pearl patted the girl on the head. "It's all right, Blue. Don't think of me that way, all right? Just think of me as a friend..."

Blue squeaked again and smiled, then composed herself and showed Pearl back into the lobby.

"You two done bumping gums or what?" Saffron groaned, watching them exit. 

Pearl scowled, then turned back to her new friend and shook her hand.

"Blue, it's been a real pleasure to meet you. At least I know I'll have one friend here."

Blue just smiled. Pearl broke away from her and brushed past Saffron, who was scribbling something on a notepad.

"Agatha Christie's better," she remarked as she passed. 

"Well!" Saffron muttered, bouncing her pen off the desk. 

Pearl moved towards the door. She brushed past a tall, crew cut man in a gray coat who tipped his cap to her, then marched straight to the front desk.

Pearl watched him for a moment, noting that Saffron received him much more courteously than she had her. And Azul - Blue - stood by, hands clutched together, looking absolutely petrified.

Then, when he disappeared into the back, Pearl finally exited. 

* * *

"It was that easy, huh? A little surprised, to be honest. But I suppose your being Rose Diamond's nanny is...a foot in the door."

"I just hope it leaves me time to do my work. Babysitting a nuisance doesn't seem like it'll let me snoop around much."

"Well, take what you can get."

"What have you uncovered?"

"Oh, I'm following the money. Talked to my source on the LAPD...Schroeder was last seen with a girl half his age at a bar outside El Monte. Mexican girl, I think. Name was Sanchez. Couldn't talk to her, the police are questioning her. Apparently she's being tight-lipped, for obvious reasons. Schroeder was married, you know."

"So, maybe there isn't anything more to this..."

"You sound disappointed."

"Peridot, I guess I thought...well, maybe I wanted to think...Maybe this is a mistake." 

"Not saying that. Not saying that at all. Plus, you started moping before I had a chance to tell you what I'd really found out."

"Well, what were you waiting for?"

"Easy Pearl, give me a second to steady my lungs. Okay. I did a little digging, and Schroeder...he didn't leave just because he opposed the development deal. Maybe that's not news, but..."

"Well?"

"Schroeder had appeared at a meeting of the company's board of directors three weeks before the murder. According to a source - you'll forgive me for not identifying them over the telephone - Schroeder complained that Azuria was diverting company funds to her pet causes. Specifically, politics."

"That doesn't surprise me one bit."

"Me neither. He mentioned a large amount of cash went missing just before the gubernatorial election last fall, and suggested that the shareholders might find that information interesting."

"Huh."

"It gets better. I dug up an article in the _Daily News_ right around Election Day about Colonel Thomas de Vries. Ex-Army officer, fired for talking trash about the President and, um, screaming about Jews and Commies, like they all do. Real wannabe Franco, this guy. He ran for Governor last year on the American Party ticket."

"Oh. _Yes_. **Him**." 

"Well, one of the intrepid reporters at the _News_ found that he received donations in excess of $50,000 from three major backers. Not that did him much good, Herr Colonel managed about 2,000 votes statewide. Works out to be about $25 per vote, which strikes me as a bum deal. But that's still a pretty interesting coincidence, is it not?"

"Do you have anything to connect them?"

"Not yet. I'm thinking that's where you might come in." 

"Sounds like you're solving this all by yourself."

"So far. But you're just getting started. Besides, you have access to people and files and things I don't. And this is definitely something I wanna look at."

"Okay. Peridot, before we go...I'm thinking I'll move up near Fullerton."

"...That's not necessarily a bad idea."

"It will raise less suspicion. Might make me vulnerable to surveillance, but..."

"No, it's a good idea. Might keep the heat off of me, if nothing else." 

"Glad you're keeping perspective on what's really important." 

"I'm always looking out for Number One, sweetheart. You know that."  

"All right. Well, we'll have to figure out a way to communicate that won't draw attention. The Diamonds seem like the types that keep tabs on their employees."

"Well, that means they might be listening right now, which means our whole conspiracy is blown."

"Holy Moses, you think so?"

"I hope to God **not**! Because let's face facts, Pearl, if it comes down to me and you..."

"Thanks, Peridot."

Pearl hung up, suddenly feeling apprehensive. She looked around her apartment and sighed, realizing that she wouldn't really miss this place and all the bad memories it held. But moving closer to the lion's den just put you closer to the lion...And she didn't yet know if she could trust anyone up there.

Well, Blue seemed nice. If a little flighty. But Saffron? Total boss's pet. Definitely needs minding. But if she's reading novels at work...

She went to her apartment window, preparing for bed. She spotted a flicker of light on the street, and saw a man in a gray suit lighting a cigarette and looking up towards her building. 

She froze, panicking, hands clutching her own throat. Then watched, only slightly relieved, as he stepped forward to greet a lady friend dressed in a bright yellow outfit.

Pearl sighed and closed the curtains tight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No real notes here. Colonel De Vries is a fictional character who is loosely inspired by a real person (I'll clarify later on, once doing so won't spoil the plot).


	4. The Scorpion

Peridot didn't usually go out on Monday night. But after a day digging through newspapers and court records (the most tedious part of her work), she needed the distraction.

The Scorpion nestled unobtrusively on the end of West Hollywood, a small rundown nightclub that wouldn't attract anyone who wasn't in the know, or else incredibly desperate for a drink. Its interior resembled a slightly anachronistic speakeasy, with wood paneling, billiards tables and small tables, a small performing area which consisted of a raised stage, a chair and a microphone. Only the artwork gave away the game: pictures of movie stars and singers, floral artwork and photographs, and over the bar, a large painting of a reclining female nude. A sign reading  **WOMEN WITHOUT MEN** hung over the entrance. 

Underneath reclined women in all sorts of dress: femmes and butches, some wearing sailors' outfits and quasi-military uniforms, others in tuxedos and suits, still more in traditionally feminine dress. Some, mostly newcomers and those hiding their identities, seemed faintly embarrassed, preferring to hide in the shadows and furtively hold hands in the corner. Others seemed relieved to be themselves in the rare climate that wouldn't judge them. And the bar owner, Bismuth, flitted about them in a suit and bow tie, serving drinks and food, making small talk and telling the stalest, worst jokes in the Universe. 

Peridot didn't usually mingle with the crowd, except when she was really desperate for a lay. She liked to people watch, liked to drink and enjoyed the atmosphere. Sometimes they had a performer who didn't mind being seen in such a place. 

And some nights, she came to collect information. But tonight she'd rather avoid that. 

"Still on the grift, eh Peridot?" 

She heard a nauseatingly familiar English voice, turned and saw a short woman in a blue schoolgirl dress, her dark hair done up in a bob. And the ghastly smile of a trickster. 

"Aquamarine. Funny running into you."

"Why funny?" 

"Didn't fancy you as gay," Peridot murmured, taking a sip of gin. 

"What makes you think I am?"

Aquamarine looked genuinely confused, maybe even offended by the question, which nearly made Peridot spit her alcohol across the room. 

"Look around you, dear," Peridot said. She managed to swallow, though some alcohol tapered onto her shirt. 

"I'm here to drink," Aquamarine said, then leaned forward in confidence. "And maybe to scout a new story."

"You still writing for the Hearst papers?"

"Yep. Louella doesn't like it, but she can go hang. She can only get the high-toned nonsense about stars and starlets and so forth. She'd never set foot in a dive like this."

"I admire your commitment to your work." 

"Well, it **is** perilous work," Aquamarine said, with a secrecy that irritated Peridot. "I'm on the scent of something big..."

Peridot hated people talking in code; if you wanted to keep a secret, better that you shut your fucking mouth. 

"Anything you care to share?" she asked warily. 

Aquamarine zipped her mouth and Peridot rolled her eyes. 

"Well, I'm working these days too," Peridot said. "Not tonight, though."

"You looking for someone to take home."

"Ha! Take a look around you. This crowd isn't really my kind of..."

She gestured at a skinny broad in a sailor's cap smooching a heavyset woman in a suit. 

"I knew you had good taste," Aquamarine agreed. Then she looked disapprovingly at the drink in Peridot's hand. "Well, except...gin, really?"

Peridot shrugged. "It's all going the same place," she sighed before slugging down the glass.

She really didn't like Aquamarine, and would prefer to be socializing with just about anyone else. Al Capone or Bugsy Siegel might be nice, or Anna Marie Hahn, or even Hirohito himself. But she had no use for a hack gossip columnist talking in epigrams. Even if she was on to something world-blowing.

Unless, of course, it was a story that _she'd_ find useful. But Peridot knew that she'd never expect help from Aquamarine, except by accident. 

Or coercion. 

There was a slight commotion in the bar. Peridot turned to see Bismuth mounting the performing area and grabbing the microphone.  

"Ladies and ladies, how are you doing tonight?" 

The women cheered and clapped and a few laughed obligingly at Bismuth's pathetic little joke. Bismuth smiled and fiddled with a bow tie then, then turned to the crowd. 

"Well, we usually don't have performers here except on weekends, but I knew you wouldn't want to Bis _muth_  tonight's performer. By day, an ordinary woman - or ordinary enough - by night, the world's most beautiful singer. Seriously, her voice is so sweet it makes angels cry, and you know that's a damn sight better than the acts we usually get here. Anyway, without any further ado or other bad jokes, give a big ol' Scorpion welcome to the one, the only Lapis Lazuli."

Peridot saw Aquamarine perk up, as if she recognized the name. It meant nothing to Peridot, and she leaned back against the bar. 

A thin girl with an olive complex and jet black hair took the stage, wearing a sparking blue dress with a gemstone choker and black lace gloves. She had a small, guarded smile on her face but didn't make eye contact as she opened her guitar case and started tuning the strings. 

 **Now** Peridot took notice.  

"Hey there, Scorpion," Lapis said, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. "It's been awhile since I've seen your shining faces."

"Try three months!" a woman drunkenly shouted, inspiring a ripple of awkward laughter from the crowd. 

Lapis forced a chuckle. "Fair enough. You got my number, all right. But that's why I love you."

The crowd applauded for themselves, more than Lapis. Lapis waited for the applause to calm down, thoroughly in her element, then continued.

"Well, I'm gonna perform some of your old favorites later, but I wanted to start off with something new. Now, it's a bit more...let's say, downbeat, emotional, whatever...than what you're used to from me. Maybe I wanted a change. Maybe I just had something different to say than just, you know, have a fun time. Maybe some things are going on that I need to deal with. Whatever. I hope you'll forgive me for starting off with something...thoughtful."

"For that necklace I'll forgive you anything!" another heckler shouted. Lapis didn't dignify this belch with a response. 

"She's really milking it, isn't she?" Aquamarine whispered into Peridot's ear. But Peridot was too busy admiring Lapis to notice, or care, her gossip. 

There were a few mournful notes on the guitar as Lapis began strumming. Then she started into an airy melody:

_It all became so lovely_

_Those bluest skies above me_

_Those funny feelings I had never felt_

_Before I met you_

It only took those few lines to silence the crowd. Peridot felt her heart melt instantly. Bismuth hadn't been kidding; her voice was indescribable.

_I thought I'd stay awhile_

_I tried to learn to learn to smile_

_So many colors_

_I had never even known_

Peridot leaned forward, trying to stop herself from bursting into flame. She didn't usually have this reaction to musicians, however pretty or talented, but something about this one seemed different. There was something soulful, contemplative in her lyrics. 

_Maybe I'll find myself sitting on that distant shore_

_Maybe I'm not alone_

You could hear a pin drop. Even Aquamarine seemed captivated by Lapis's song. 

But Peridot snapped out of her trance, just long enough, to notice the pain creasing Lapis's face. The concentration as she struggled to belt out something deeply personal, something eating her up inside. 

_Then I see the colors fading_

_Gentleness of light escaping_

_Shadows of my fear invading_

_Have I seen this all before?_

Peridot's heart went out to the kid instantly. She knew the type, the kind who had some problem she needed rescuing from. Or maybe she was just an incredible singer and Peridot was reading too much into it. 

_I know_

_There's something residing_

_A terror deep inside me_

Her eyes bolted open, and she seemed to stare at Peridot. 

_I couldn't understand how you could be so bold_

Peridot licked her lips with agitation. Felt her heart sink further down. And saw the plaintive look on Lapis's face, oozing warmth and agony and sincerity. 

_Damn, she was good._

_Maybe I'll find myself smiling on that distant shore_

_Maybe I'm not alone_

The bar was silent for a second before the audience broke out into raucous applause. Peridot leaped to her feet and joined in, staring directly at Lapis, who smiled modestly and sat back on the chair. She rested the guitar beside her, watching as two women in tuxedos, one with a saxophone, one with trumpet, joined her onstage. 

Peridot watched her bask in what must be a familiar spectacle to her, fan adulation approaching worship. But she seemed almost oblivious to it, as if she was deeply wounded, lost in thought, contemplating all the meaning that song she'd sung dredged up in her.

"Thank you for bearing with me," Lapis said shyly. She took a deep breath, then her eyes bolted open. 

And again, she seemed to stare directly at Peridot.

But this time, she seemed transformed. A carnal, hungry look had obliterated the sadness. A burning challenge to Peridot's womanhood.

She even bit her lips and smiled, sending a shiver down Peridot's spine.

Then Lapis clapped her hands, the brass duet burst into song, and she stood up and began a fiery up-tempo jazz number.

And Peridot was left to wonder all over again. 

* * *

"Lapis Lazuli used to be a _comer_ , as they say," Aquamarine informed Peridot after Lapis's set ended. "Performing the big lounges and nightclubs, got a record deal and even a possible movie contract. Everything a gal could want. She wasn't in places like this..."

"All right, I've let your fucking insults slide all night. If you're gonna talk about places like this like the shit you scrape off your shoe, why don't you fuck off back to your straight bars and joke about how weird and pathetic all the queers are to your friends."

"Oh, I'll do that anyway," Aquamarine affirmed with a malicious smile, making Peridot want to strangle her. "But I think you might want to hear the rest of my story." And Peridot noticed a teasing grin on her acquaintance's face. She'd clearly noticed Peridot's reaction to Lapis and rubbed it in her face.

"All right, whatever you need to get off your chest," Peridot grumbled. 

"Well, before she started hanging out with the lavender crowd, she was a big deal among _normal_ people," Aquamarine sneered, rubbing her hatred in Peridot's face. Peridot balled her hands into tight fists, wishing she'd brought her gun. 

"Then something happened."

"I'm not buying your fucking paper to find out," Peridot snapped. "Just tell me."

"Well...I think it involves a friend of yours."

"Be more specific."

"Any friends of yours recently seen an end to their career?"

It took Peridot a moment to realize what she meant.

"You mean...?"

"Yep."

"She's the Girl in Blue?"

"You've got it."

"Then she's the one..."

"Yep." 

"Pearl?"

Peridot felt a figurative slap in her face.

"Jesus..."

"Granted, I don't see the appeal of other women at all," Aquamarine teased, squeezing her legs together. "But I can see why someone like Lazuli might make an invert like your friend Pearl weak..."

Peridot ignored her blather, struggling to puzzle out her thoughts. She wondered...

 _My God_. 

It wasn't hard at all to see why Pearl would...like someone like her. Aquamarine was right about that, at least. But now she started trying to make sense of what it might meant.

The change in Lapis's countenance, from wounded innocent to sultry seductress, was...amazing. Like flipping a light switch from Good to Bad.

And it made her wonder if there was more to Pearl's story than she knew...She definitely needed to find out. 

"...Anyway, it's nice to know that you all have the same...weaknesses here. Makes it easier to understand." 

Peridot turned and shot Aquamarine a deadpan look. Then she spotted Bismuth at another table, chatting up a guest. 

"Excuse me," she muttered, breaking away from the bar and walking over to Bismuth.

"Hey, Peridot, you're looking...um, stainy tonight?" Bismuth said, eyeing up the gin on her shirt. "Everything going okay?"

"Just fine," Peridot said. 

"Like our performer tonight?" Bismuth said suggestively. 

"She was certainly...something," Peridot allowed. 

"Now, I'm pretty sure she came here with someone, but that doesn't mean..." 

Peridot smirked and shook her head. 

"I'll investigate _that_ one on my own time," she said with forced professionalism. "Listen Biz, you know there's one thing I don't like it's a certain crowd here..."

And she gestured at Aquamarine, who sat at the bar obliviously, studied the guests with amused contempt. 

"Short stuff giving you trouble?" Bismuth asked. 

"She's saying things that are...Well, if she said them to you you'd fucking flatten her into a pancake."

Bismuth nodded and put a hand on Peridot's shoulder.

"I'll take care of it," she said quietly, and walked slowly over to the bar. 

Peridot prepared herself for the spectacle of watching her vile Limey friend forcibly evicted from the bar, and possibly roughed up. She could use the laugh. But she noticed a flash of blue from the corner of her eye, and turned her head, and saw...

Lapis Lazuli. 

Yes, she was still here. And she was chatting with two women at a far table, and laughing. 

If Peridot had been thinking, she probably would have let her go and catch up on another occasion.

But Peridot wasn't thinking. Her legs seemed to move on their own.

Before she knew it, she drifted across the bar and approached Lapis just as she broke away from the table. 

"Oh! Uh, hi!" Lapis recognized Peridot, and instantly became flustered.

"Do I look that bad?" Peridot asked. "I could change my shirt..."

"I, um...it's Peridot, right?"

"You _know_ me?"

"Of course!" Lapis said with a smile. "Everyone in LA knows the Dick Without a Dick."

Peridot grimaced, not happy to hear the nickname. 

"So...what was that smile in aid of?"

"It wasn't for _you_ ," Lapis said tartly. "It's part of my act." 

This confused the hell out of Peridot. 

"If you have a pick-up line, you'd better spring it fast," Lapis said, leaning against the wall. "I don't have all night."

Peridot's eyes searched the singer up and down. She felt sweat on the back of her neck, felt her legs trembling. Like she was a fucking kid again. 

"Umm...I like those gloves."

Lapis raised an eyebrow. "Gloves? Seriously?"

"I don't see many singers using lace gloves," Peridot said. "They're such an...interesting accouterment." 

"They're kind of my trademark," Lapis admitted with a shrug. "Makes me look like a two-dollar whore I guess, but...sometimes I feel that way."

"I kinda guessed from your song," Peridot said. 

"Yeah." Pause.

Peridot wondered whether to bring up Pearl. But she didn't want to scare Lapis away. Now she was too intrigued to do that.

"So I take it from your introduction you don't sing full-time any more?"

"Sadly, no. A gal has to support herself...And that's not always easy out here."

Peridot scanned her memories of bawdy houses and vice raids to see if Lapis rang to bell. Thankfully, she seemed to check out. 

"And what is your necklace, there?"

Lapis held it up - a choker with a blue gem with golden flecks. 

"It's, um, a Lapis Lazuli. Like me."

"Wow."

"You like it?"

"It's a little weird. I mean, I don't wear a Peridot everywhere I go..."

"Why would you? Those are gross."

"Green is my color."

"The color of snot."

"The color of leaves." 

Peridot still wasn't sure if this was banter or awkwardness. How much she enjoyed it, and how much she wanted to shrivel into her shirt and die. And she wasn't sure, just yet, how far to push things. What questions to ask. And how to ask them.

There were three ways she typically got information from someone. One, the Human Way, was to ask them. Sometimes they surprised you and bore their soul, told the truth. But Lapis didn't seem like that type.

The second, the Detective Wway, was to investigate them. Which seemed like a reasonable option at this point. But if Lapis knew who Peridot was, that would probably be easier said than done. 

The third, what Peridot called the Other Way, was to fuck them. Or try and engage them in a serious relationship, maybe, if it could last long enough to get useful information. But Peridot didn't have the patience for courting that night.

She wanted to find out Lapis's story. And she wanted Lapis in her bed. And maybe she could find a way to make _both_ those things happen. 

There was a slight commotion across the bar. Peridot turned and saw Bismuth grabbing a squawking, kicking Aquamarine, spitting protests and profanities, and ejecting her bodily out the back door, to the cheers of some of her patrons. Peridot allowed a smile to creep across her face before turning back to Lapis.

"So...why don't you tell me your story?" she said, in as smooth a voice as she could muster under the circumstances. 

Lapis looked at her with uncertainty, her eyes betraying the thoughts raging through her head. Then a smile settled on her face, and she grabbed Peridot's wrist. And Peridot instantly seized up. 

"Maybe somewhere more private."

* * *

So many thoughts raced through Peridot's head, so many questions and lusts and fantasies, as they bolted out the door that she barely noticed the burly woman grabbing her and thrusting her against the wall, until her back hit bricks at full force. 

Once she regained her senses, she shook her head, focused her eyes and saw Jasper hulking over, eyes filled with contempt. And suddenly the seriousness of her predicament washed over her. 

"Jasper. What a profoundly unpleasant surprise."

"Can it, you pathetic little crumb," Jasper growled. "I didn't come all this way for you to harass my woman."

"Yeah, we've been over this. You came all this way to take a leak. Have you gone _yet_?"

This crack met with an elbow to her face. Peridot tasted blood and sank back against the wall.

"This is your only warning, runt," Jasper said. "Leave me alone. And leave Lapis alone. The less you try and figure things out, the less pain you'll be in."

"Why do you think...?" Peridot asked, only to meet another smack across the face. 

"Don't try your luck, runt." 

Jasper straightened out her coat and she walked away.

Peridot remained slumped against the wall, wiping blood off her nose. Even though her ears were ringing, she could dimly hear two voices:

"I didn't want you to _hurt_ her, Jasper, just scare her a bit."

"People scare better when they're hurting." 

"Yeah, but that was a bit rough to just..."

"Look Lapis, I know that bitch from back Chicago. When she's on to something, rough is the only way to get her off it."

"But what is she on _to_?"

"I told you, if we're gonna do this, you can't ask me questions like that."

"I don't see why..." And their voices slowly faded.  

Peridot staggered to her feet, taking a few breaths to try and steady herself. Her body felt fine, except for her face. She worried that her nose might be busted.

Even so, she managed to smile through the pain. Because Jasper had so obviously misjudged her. Because she'd obviously learned nothing about her over the course of their acquaintance. 

Because punching her in the face for getting fresh was only gonna make her more determined.

Because things getting rough **made** Peridot Mulwray.

 _Not to worry,_ Peridot told herself, _straightening out her shirt and tie with pride. She'll have ample opportunity to find out, soon enough._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I based my description of a '30s gay bar on Lillian Faderman's Odd Girls and Twilight Lovers, a wonderful history of lesbian culture in 20th Century America, and a few articles on Le Monocle, a popular lesbian nightclub in 1930s Paris (especially this photo essay: https://tinyurl.com/jpvlzbe). Hopefully this chapter is, if not one hundred percent accurate, at least not offensively wrong. 
> 
> Anna Marie Hahn was a female serial killer who murdered five men in Ohio between 1933 and 1937. Al Capone and Bugsy Siegel were, of course, major organized crimes figures from this era; Siegel helped set up the Los Angeles crime syndicate later controlled by Mickey Cohen.


	5. Diamonds

 

 

Anyone could easily tell that Rose Diamond was younger than her sisters. She had a fresh, eager face with a slight, babyish pout, a wild mop of light red hair that she struggled to keep tidy, a small pointed chin and tiny nose, and warm, searching brown eyes. She was practically a little girl next to her sisters, stern and depressed as they were, with the same unsubtle, changeable emotions: the slightest flicker expression rendered her face utterly changed, the slightest alteration to her routine. There was no subtlety, no half-measures in anything she did, which was appealing and annoying in equal measure. 

Pearl couldn't help it. She had developed a crush on Rose the moment they first met. 

She found, as long as she'd known she liked girls, that she didn't really have a _type_ ; any kind of woman could, potentially, appeal to her. Not that she'd had to choose, much. In Hollywood, sex of all kinds was plentiful; it was the city's main pastime, virtually its raison d'etre. Pearl's only complaint was the indiscretion of so many of her paramours, who would brag about bedding a star - a brag which might well make it into the gossip columns, despite the best efforts of Pearl and her agents and the studio. Under the strictures of the Hays Code, Hollywood pretended women like Pearl didn't exist at all, and wasn't about to rudely awaken the public to the contrary.

Still, it took someone special to make Pearl _feel_ anything. And when she usually did, the experience just left her hurting. Because while a one-time liaison could be kept discreet, a serious relationship proved almost impossible to conceal. If the press sees you out in public with the same girl too many times, they will ask questions. They will follow you. And they don't give a damn about your image, just about the story...

So she wasn't surprised that she found Rose, a pretty young woman with an inviting smile, attractive. But she found that her flightiness and insecurity, which might have annoyed her, proved endearing as well. 

"Pearl White! The Girl With Champagne Hair! Oh my _God_ , I can't believe that I have a movie star as my **assistant**!"

Rose's face lit up like the most obnoxious, starstruck autograph seeker. Usually Pearl humored these reactions with a polite smile, but this time she felt...different.

"What brings you to our miserable little slice of hell?" Rose asked. And Pearl felt the change in tone like a slap to a face. 

"Umm..."

Rose chuckled, crossing her legs and leaning back. "Oh, I'm sure you think working for a company run by woman is progressive and glamorous and exciting! But it's really not. It's a miserable little slice of hell-" She repeated that phrase - "just like all companies everywhere. Or so I imagine." 

"I'm sorry to hear that," Pearl said, still smiling despite herself. 

"Well, you're here now and I don't want to scare you off," Rose said, her smile curdled into compassionate sadness. She leaned across the desk and clasped Pearl's hands, making her blush. 

"I've never had an assistant before," she continued, practically beaming. "I'm sure you'll be a big help around here. Maybe now I have someone to handle all the dull corporate stuff Azuria and River pile on my desk." 

This comment poked through Pearl's romantic haze. She felt a stab of resentment.

 _Of course_ Rose expected her to do all the work. She was the assistant, after all, and that's how businesses worked. Wasn't it?

Meanwhile, Rose did...what?

Well, she remembered what Azuria had told her. That Rose was there mostly because their mother wanted it. Not because she had any interest in the company or working or...anything but fun. 

 _Well...it will be an experience, anyway_ , Pearl assured itself. _And it will be worthwhile once I find what I'm looking for_.

Everything in good time. 

"Whatever you need me to do," Pearl said, smiling through gritted teeth. 

Rose smiled and clasped her hand together. She blinked coquettishly before staring into Pearl's eyes. 

"Pearl White, you and me are gonna get along just fine." 

And her silken-voiced sincerity, her welcoming gaze, smothered Pearl's reservations. For the moment. 

* * *

If the rest of the week offered a preview of coming attractions, Pearl could probably handle it.

True, it was rather dull. She spent most of the day handling paperwork that Saffron or Blue sent to. Rose, inevitably, would roll her eyes and sigh and collapse into a heap, horrified at the prospect of applying herself to something. Pearl unhesitatingly dived into the work, even though she mostly dealt with expense reports and minutes of meetings and...things that weren't in the least important or interesting.

Which made Pearl a little sad. Because, however shallow and silly Rose seemed, maybe she could flourish if they trusted her, gave her a little confidence and responsibility. Treated her like an adult, rather than indulged her like a child. 

And she stood in on a meeting between Rose and her sisters, where Azuria gave a droning speech about investors in their properties across the Sacramento Valley. Pearl stood off to one side, watching the meeting unfold with monotony. Watching River sit there politely, listening to her sister without emotion. And watching Saffron beaming with pride at her boss from the sideline. And Blue, silent and lurking as always. 

And her own boss, Rose, sitting there bored, chin in her hands, staring into space. 

"SIT UP STRAIGHT!" Azuria barked, like a teacher lecturing an errant pupil. 

Rose sat straight up, deeply embarrassed. Pearl's eyes flickered over to Azuria, her face full of rage mingled with disappointment, and Rose, looking deeply wounded, on the verge of tears. And she felt deeply embarrassed and shamed just to be present.  

But all of that wasn't her concern, not really. She could sympathize with Rose, maybe even fall in love with her (stars, could you _imagine_?). But she wasn't there to make Rose Diamond's life better. 

She found, to her surprise, that she _enjoyed_ the work. Even if it involved just sorting papers and filing them away. It felt so much more fulfilling and meaningful than standing in front of a camera and pretending to be someone else. (Better to pretend to be someone else in an office, she supposed.)  

Besides, it would all be worthwhile once everything shook out. Once she found what she was looking for. 

* * *

 

"...And then Debra tells me, Saffron, you're gonna get yourself kicked out of the operator biz with _that_ attitude. And I says to her, that's the **idea** , lame brain! You think I want to be answering phones for morons all my life? And her mouth dropped to the floor! And then I turn and see Mrs. Strong, with this abominable bulldog look on her face..."

Blue leaned back in her chair and giggled with delight, more of a high-pitched squeal than a laugh. Pearl saw someone from the next table over staring and blushed. Saffron smiled in pride and delight at Blue's reaction, twirling her necklace as she watched. 

"Anyway...needless to say, I was fired that very afternoon." She tapped her finger on the table for emphasis. 

"Bum deal," Blue said. "But if you hadn't been fired from there, you couldn't work with us."

"Very perceptive of you." And Pearl noticed Saffron placing her hand on Blue's, under the table. And made a quick mental note. 

Pearl sat more or less silently, nibbling on her food and watching her coworkers interact. She hadn't exactly been...enthusiastic about joining them, but it had been awhile since she'd been to a restaurant this nice. Besides, it helped to build a rapport with people she'd spent most of her week with.

And people who might have useful information.

Saffron wasn't too difficult to size up. Tonight she wore an emerald green outfit which contrasted nicely with her blonde hair, complemented further with a gaudy gold necklace and bracelets. Much more stylish and attractive than her usual frumpy dress, but still with a hint of tackiness. (Pearl wore a modest pink-and-white outfit, her favorite, even though she associated it most strongly with a studio-mandated date she'd had with Gary Cooper, who she'd found to be a hopeless, rock-headed bore.)

If Saffron was officious and snooty in the office, after-hours she became the big-mouthed, energetic gossip who couldn't keep a secret. Not mean, exactly, just very...abrasive. And inflated. Always placing herself at the top of the food chain. Always making herself look good. Always wanting to show off what she knew, what power she had she access to, what people she met. 

Exactly the sort who Pearl could drag information from without much difficulty.  

"So Pearl, I'm sure you have _plenty_ of Hollywood stories," Saffron asked, looking at her expectantly. "Like, what's the skinny on the stars you worked with? Surely you have some fun stories about William Powell and Myrna Loy, at least."

"Ooh, I **love** them!" Blue squeaked.

Pearl rolled her eyes. She grew tired of recounting Hollywood gossip; she liked to show her technical knowledge, how she achieved a performance, how she learned to ride a horse or sword fight. The little insight she could provide into direction or writing, or the inner workings of a film studio.

But nobody asked her _that_. Just what all the other stars were like.

"Well," she said politely, "Bill Powell is just one of those...He's a sweet guy. Very personable, very gentlemanly. Warm sense of humor. He's exactly what you expect."

"Well, I'm glad he's not a phony," Saffron offered. 

"Myrna Loy...stars, what can you say about her?" And Pearl's eyes went wide with admiration. "I really admire a woman like that...she spent years trying to break into the business and didn't take no for an answer. Worked as a model and a dancer and took bit parts on a lot of crappy pictures no one went to see. And she kept at it until she struck gold. She has real gumption and drive and smarts and she's just...well, she's the kind of woman that some people call a bitch, and others really admire and respect."

"I'm guessing you fall in the latter category," Saffron teased. 

"You're darn right I do!" Pearl said, a little defensively. "It's not easy to keep a career in Hollywood...not easy at all." And she looked down sheepishly at her feet, ignoring the waiter as he refreshed everyone's wine. 

"Ever work with Marlene Dietrich?" Saffron asked. "She's my favorite."

" _Work_ with her?" Pearl smiled mysteriously as she savored the memory. "In a manner of speaking. Not on a picture though."  

"Well...I'm sure you have a story to tell _there_ ," Saffron said bawdily, slapping her shoulder with a familiarity Pearl didn't appreciate. "But you can dish about it some other time, huh?" 

Pearl just nodded.

"We're so glad to have you," Saffron added, raising her glass. "To Pearl White, the Girl With Champagne Hair."

"To Pearl!" Blue followed suit. 

"Dear Lord," Pearl said, burying her face in her hands. But she couldn't help smiling appreciatively at their attention. 

* * *

 

Blue was harder to figure out. She seemed a little more voluble away from work, a little more conversant. She dressed in a beautiful dark blue smoking dress which seemed completely at odds with her demure personality. 

But there was something about her...Pearl felt like she wasn't penetrating the whole way through. That she was guarding a secret. And whenever she seemed ready to let something slip, Saffron would block her. 

"So, what's your story, Blue?" she asked as they ate their deserts. "I mean, I know you're the world's biggest movie fan, but besides that..."

Saffron eyed Blue, as if signalling her not to say anything. Blue looked down and sighed. 

"There's no story," she said, hiding her eyes behind her bangs. "I'm from San Francisco and my family moved out here a few years ago. Needed to find a job, so I took it."

The table went silent. Pearl sensed she'd touched on a forbidden subject.

"Well...I'm sorry to bring the room down."

Blue smiled. "It's all right," she reassured Pearl. "Everybody wants to know. It's just...I'm not that complicated. Sorry to disappoint you."

Though her tone suggested otherwise. 

Pearl decided to drop it. Maybe another time. 

"This meringue is _divine_ ," Saffron enthused, tasting a scoop of her dessert. "Those chestnuts give it an extra something special."

"And this spiced pear...delectable," Blue burbled through a mouthful of fruit. 

"Don't talk with your mouth full, dear," Saffron lectured, reaching across the table to wipe Blue's chin. "Gosh,

"Sorry," she said helplessly. 

"Anyway, we don't always splurge for dessert, but this is a special occasion," Saffron said to Pearl. 

"Yes, well, I suppose it's not every day you get...a new coworker," Pearl shrugged. She'd ordered a butterscotch pastry but hadn't really touched it. 

"Well, you'll need it working for Rose," Saffron said. "She's a handful."

"Really? She seems sweet to me."

Saffron's smile curdled into a sour, mocking smirk.

"Operative word being _seems_. Hon, just wait until she tries to drag you along on one of her social outings. Then you'll see how, erm,  sweet she can be."

Pearl already had some idea, and had already grown sick of Saffron's suggestive, condescending tone. But she let both pass. 

"Oh stars, look who it is," Saffron whispered.

Pearl turned her head and saw him. The crew-cut man from the office, dressed in a dapper suit with a pretty brunette on his arm.

"Who is that?"

"Colonel De Vries." Saffron practically hissed his name.  

Pearl flushed her memory for that name. It sounded familiar, but she couldn't place it. 

"You'll be seeing a lot of him," Saffron warned darkly. "If you don't want a political harangue every now and then..."

Blue blushed and looked away uncomfortably, shifting in her seat. 

Pearl remembered her recent conversation with Peridot, and suddenly remembered. 

"Oh...yes. He was the one who ran for Governor, right?"

"That's what he **claims** ," Saffron snorted. "I think he just pocketed the money to build the National Institute of Anti-Semitism, or I dunno, to form his own private army..."

Pearl felt a chill down her spine. 

"Could we not talk politics?" Blue piped up anxiously. "I mean, it's bad enough that gets dragged into work with us..."

"Sure," Saffron said, reaching over to comfort her. "I'm sorry. It's just..." And she gestured to the Colonel, barking his order to a waiter. 

"Hmm." Pearl watched Blue sink further into her seat. She sensed the air draining out of the room. 

She smiled, then pushed her pastry into the middle of the table.

"I think I've had enough to eat," Pearl said. And Blue turned to her, smiling with gratitude. Saffron nodded. 

* * *

Pearl went back to the office after dinner, on the excuse that she'd left something there. Saffron invited Pearl to her apartment for drinks, but Pearl didn't drink much, and in an case wasn't in the mood to hear Saffron's honking nasal voice suffused with alcohol just yet. 

"Already addicted to work, huh?" Saffron asked. "Well, you'll fit in just fine with the Diamonds. See you on Monday, Pearl. Me and Blue need to go home."

"Thanks for dinner," Pearl said.

"My pleasure." 

"Good night, Blue," Pearl said. 

"Good night, Pearl," the shy secretary added.

Pearl watched the two of them walk off together, with Saffron gabbing away and putting an arm around her quiet friend's shoulder. Then Pearl fumbled for her key and went inside. 

She walked into the lobby, even more forbidding in the darkness. 

Her mission was simple: something that could, probably should wait until Monday. Investigate a document she'd seen earlier in the day, made a mental note of, and placed in Rose's desk. A file pertaining to the San Gabriel account. The first time all week that she'd seen anything which truly piqued her interest. 

She made it halfway to Rose's office when she realized she wasn't alone. She froze as the sound of whispers emanated from another room. 

She pressed herself against a wall, noticing a dim light somewhere down the hall. She edged along the wall, her heart pounding with anxiety. 

"...I'm telling you they're going to write it off as one of those things that happens out here."

A male voice Pearl didn't recognize. 

"Can you be _sure_ of that?" This was definitely Azuria. "It's all well and good to be cynical, but sometimes _those things_ attract attention. Which we absolutely don't want right now." 

"I don't think you need to worry about attention. This was done very discreetly, with someone from out of town who knew what they were doing..."

"Out of town. Murder, Inc. people, I suppose."

"Burned through my credit with them. No, this is an old acquaintance from Chicago."

Pearl remembered the hulking woman she and Peridot had encountered earlier, and shuddered. 

"Well Mr. Snyder, I appreciate your, umm, discretion. But the fact remains that one of my highest-ranking executives died. And that's not just going to go away."

"Well, you didn't give me much choice..."

"I just wanted him scared off the project..."

"Well, let's just say now he's scared stiff..."

Pearl felt a lead weight in her gullet. She couldn't decide whether to stay and listen to their scheme unravel, or to get out of Dodge before it was too late.

A hand on her shoulder made her jump. 

She turned and saw River's sad face, staring disapprovingly through the darkness.

"What are you doing here, Pearl?" She sounded more disappointed than angry. 

"Umm...I forgot a document I'd meant to keep for Rose...I mean, Miss Diamond."

"We are all Miss Diamond here," River said, smiling ghoulishly. "I appreciate your dedication."

A beat. 

"What did you hear?"

"What did I...?" Pearl couldn't even think of a plausible lie, so she said nothing, trying to clench her jaw in defiance, even though she trembled and felt like pissing herself. 

"I suppose I should have told you...My sister has some friends who do...unsavory work for us. The kind of work...I wish I didn't know about it."

River turned away, looking even sadder than usual. She took a few deep breaths. 

"Pearl," she said finally. "You know you can't discuss anything you've heard here, right?"

"Of course." Pearl's voice was barely a whisper. 

"However banal it is...or however...Well...We put a lot of trust in our employees. We prefer you don't know about these conversations. But we're not stupid. We know you have ears and eyes and inquiring minds. And that's fine. You can't help being curious. Just...be discreet. Use tact."

Her smile returned, now with a timbre of mockery. 

"After all, I'm sure you of all people have learned _that_ by now." 

She placed a hand on Pearl's shoulder and vanished down the hallway, disappearing into the shadows like a ghost. 

And Pearl stared after her. She didn't bother to listen to the conversation any longer. But she made a beeline to Rose's office, hoping that River wouldn't notice.

She rifled through the desk drawer as quietly as she could. Fortunately, she found the document right where she'd left it, and stuffed it into her purse. 

She heard Azuria's voice coming down the hall, and froze. Hid behind the desk. 

"...You are not to come back here until this matter is cleared up. I don't care where you go or what you do in the meantime. I don't want to know. Disappear for awhile. We'll need you again in the future. Until then, vanish."

"You're always so quick to use me, and so reluctant to acknowledge my existence."

"That's your job. Living like you don't exist." 

"Fair enough, ma'am. Have a good evening."

And the two parted ways. Pearl heard his footsteps down the hall, but not hers. She looked under the desk and saw Azuria hadn't moved.

She froze in place, feeling that she would be less...understanding than her sister. 

Finally, she heard a loud, frustrated sigh, then Azuria walking down the hallway.

Pearl waited for several minutes to be careful, her heart pounding in her ears.

Then she carefully took off her shoes, stuffing them into her bag, and ran.

Down the hall, into the lobby.

She thought she heard Blue bidding her good night as she reached the front door. But she didn't stop to make sure. 

She kept running until she'd reached the safety of a cafe a block away. 

She sat down, catching her breath, before ordering a glass of water from the water. She reached into the bag and pulled out the document she'd grabbed...

"Hey, aren't you Pearl White?" 

The familiar phrase interrupted her. Pearl crumpled up the paper and stuffed it back into her bag, fixed her movie star smile in place, and turned towards her fan. 

 

 

 


	6. Mama

Saturday.

Fuck.

Peridot needed to make up for lost time.

She dressed as inconspicuously as she could, which meant wearing a more feminine outfit than she ordinarily liked - a button-down, white collared shirt with a tan skirt. Her nose, still sore and swollen from her encounter with Jasper the other night, sported a butterfly bandage.

She'd refrained from smoking over the past few days, since her nasal cavity had been too messed up to properly inhale. And if tobacco was gonna kill her, it sure wasn't gonna be from choking on the smoke. Though it made her jittery as usual, more snappish and shaky and disorganized than she liked to be.

She hadn't talked to Pearl all week - didn't know whether that was a good sign or not. Either she was neck-deep in something interesting, or had chickened out. Or she was dead - couldn't rule that out. Peridot hadn't really done much on this particular case, because other matters presented themselves.

Namely, she'd had to deal with an old case that crept up on her at the last minute. She had to testify at an extortion trial for one of her clients, a Pasadena bigwig whose secretary tried to blackmail him with evidence of impropriety. Naturally, he retained Peridot. And naturally, Peridot had, the previous fall, spent several days trailing said secretary around L.A., finding that she was boinking the vice president of a rival company at the same time she was extorting her boss. Which gave her a motive beyond simple greed. Maybe.

Not that Peridot cared overmuch. But the trial ate up nearly two days, in an open-and-shut case where her testimony took only about an hour or two. Time which could have been spent doing more productive work. Fighting fascists or exposing corruption or unraveling crime rings.

Or, right this moment, discovering what had been bothering her since Monday night:

What the hell was Lapis Lazuli's deal?

* * *

 

She sat at the table outside a restaurant sipping on a mojito. The alcohol stilled her fidgeting, though it didn't make her any less eager for her contact to show up.

Finally he did. Dudley Macguire, a burly Irish cop straight from central casting, with rusty hair and a perpetual scowl. He sidled up to her table, looking annoyed and faintly embarrassed in a gray golf jacket.

"See you're drinking already?"

"How observant of you."

"A bit early in the day for alcohol, isn't it?"

"A bit early for you to be asking stupid questions."

Macguire scowled and sniffled. He took out a handkerchief and blew his nose.

"Sorry. Getting over a cold."

"It's that time of year, I guess."

"What happened to you?" He gestured to Peridot's bandage.

"Occupational hazard."

"Stuck your nose where it didn't belong, huh?"

"Like I said."

"Guess both our snoots are out of commission."

"Hopefully not our brains."

Peridot stared expectantly at the cop for a few moments, waiting for him to come around.

"You're, uh, looking into the Schroeder case? Yeah. Now I can see why your nose got bent out of shape."

"That bad, huh?"

"Bigwig with a big company and city connections gets murdered, you tell me. And not the kind of murder that lends itself to personal interpretations. Oh no. Dragged out into the desert, .38 slug in the back of the skull. Professional killer, or else an incredible simulation of one."

"Gangster stuff, huh?"

"Now Peridot," Macguire protested, "you know there isn't any organized crime in this city."

"Yeah, just like I know Adolf Hitler is really a Jew, deep down."

"This suggests two things to me, as a policeman. One, he was murdered by some hoods for...I dunno, he owed money, he crossed the wrong person. Doesn't seem likely. Two, somebody put out a professional hit on him for other reasons. You can suppose which one I might lean towards."

Peridot stared intently, trying to put things together, rubbing her fingers nervously. Maguire sneezed violently into his handkerchief.

"Goddammit."

"What's the LAPD doing about this murder?" Peridot asked. "Out of curiosity."

"Official line is that we're still looking for leads."

"Unofficial line?"

"No fucking chance. They start scratching around, they're gonna bleed out a lot of pus. And nobody wants that, except maybe Comrade Browder."

"Hmm." Peridot leaned forward, unsure whether her associate would be any help.

"Does this have anything to do with the Diamond Sisters?"

"Absolutely not," Maguire said, with a stiff diction. "They are some of Los Angeles County's most upstanding citizens and important businessmen. They wouldn't ever get involved in something illegal like this."

"That doesn't help me."

"Well, it should tell you that even if I knew something - which I don't - it's gonna land you in trouble. You don't mess with people like the Diamonds. Even if they are broads."

"Mack, look who you're talking to."

It took a moment for Peridot's point to sink into his thick Irish skull.

"Okay, sorry. But, umm...still better that I don't tell you anything that can land the both of us in trouble, okay?"

"So let me ask another way that won't land you in hot water, okay? Who on your force is in charge of dealing with extremist groups?"

"Extremist groups? Like Commies?"

"Commies, Nazis, the Klan, Jap troublemakers, Negro agitators, any of those types."

"Well, there's the Red Squad, I guess, but they're not really interested in the Brownshirts."

"You've had trouble with the Bund and the Silver Shirts, yeah? I'd think you'd have somebody on them."

"Yeah, but...we don't "have anybody" on it. The Chief doesn't think they're a big deal. Hitler's a swell guy, he says, and the Jews are just causing trouble and Germany and Italy are doing what's best for them and what does it matter to us. Because that's how it always is. Press him any further and you'll get the lecture about how they crucified Our Lord. Look Perry, I'm a fucking Catholic and I get tired of hearing that shit. You know, I don't really give a bladder full of piss about the Hebes one way or the other but..."

"Fine, fine. I don't really care about your level of tolerance. I'm not recruiting you for the ADL here. But I ask for a specific reason."

Again, it took a long moment for Peridot's point to make its impact.

"You think that...whoever killed Mr. Schroeder was mixed up with one of those groups?"

Peridot nodded.

Macguire shook his head. "Well, that's where you're wrong, I'm afraid. I mean, I've seen what happens when those goons decide to hurt somebody. They're really bad at subtlety. They just grab you off the street and beat the shit out of you. If they're feeling extra mean, maybe they'll stab you. If they're the creative types, they'll hold you down and make you drink castor oil till you puke your guts out. This is too professional a job..."

"I'm not saying the Bund killed Schroeder," Peridot clarified. "Just someone who might have a vested interest in the Bund being around and doing their thing unimpeded. Somebody well-connected, perhaps."

"You really think so?"

"There's no shortage of crazy right wing millionaires in this country. That's for sure."

Macguire laughed at that, a deep, hocking rasp muffled by mucous. "Well, you've got that right! Look, I don't know that much about the Bund, but there's a big hullabaloo about this guy, Colonel De Vries."

"Yeah?"

"He's been in L.A. the past few days and nobody's quite sure what he's up to. Usually it ain't good. Organizing or giving speeches or something along those lines. The Bund was talking about having a rally in the city next weekend, but Lord knows if that's gonna come off. All the Jews and the progressive groups are up in arms about it..."

"Very interesting."

"Look, everybody thinks De Vries is a fucking lunatic. And maybe he is. I mean, wanting to sterilize all Jews...Jesus Christ. But he's not stupid. He only shows his face when he's up to something. Like running for Governor, or..."

He didn't finish that sentence. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and folded his hands helplessly.

"What that something is, I can't tell you. But..."

"Thanks, Mac," Peridot muttered, spinning her straw around her drink.

"Sorry I couldn't help you more," he apologized. "Maybe if something turns up..."

Peridot just waved her hand and didn't look at him. Before leaving, he stopped and took a gander at her outfit.

"You know something, Perry? Today, you almost look like a woman."

"Thanks Mac," she deadpanned. "You know, if you had a dick between your legs, you'd almost look like a man."

* * *

It only took Peridot a few minutes of searching through the library's newspapers to find what she wanted.

**EX-COLONEL DENIES ROLE IN CONSPIRACY**

**MILLIONAIRE "CRUSADER" HAWTHORNE ACCUSED OF PLOTTING COUP**

**DE VRIES MOOTED TO BE FUHRER**

Beneath the screaming headlines was a chilling story. A man named Hawthorne, one of those idle, evil millionaires who seem to populate the Deep South, had started sending letters and phone calls to friends talking about a "Christian Crusade" against the government in early 1938. He said enough stupid things, Peridot remembered, that at some point the FBI started watching him and reading his mail. They intercepted a letter indicating that De Vries, who'd recently resigned from the Army, would lead an army of right wing extremists and American Legionnaires to march on Washington and install De Vries as President for Life.

One of those kooky schemes that couldn't possibly succeed. But Peridot knew such things were possible. She remembered Smedley Butler telling Congress about some shady millionaires asking for help overthrowing the government a few years ago, a plot that fell apart only, it seemed, because that old patriotic Marine had better things to do than treason.

Compared to Butler, a genuine war hero with multiple Medals of Honor, De Vries was a useless crank. Former aide to General MacArthur, his only combat experience had been helping to crush the Bonus Army and sticking a bayonet into some penniless, starving veteran's belly. So desperate for an enemy that he saw Commies everywhere. Thought Jews were not an inferior race but a separate species, or a human venereal disease. Started ranting and raving enough about FDR being part of the conspiracy that he couldn't remain in the Army any more and took his hate on the road.

The kind of man you'd consider a crank. If he didn't have a military uniform, he could be safely ignored, or else wrapped in a straight jacket and locked away. But his Colonelcy gave him gravitas that his words and actions didn't remotely deserve. Even if he earned that rank sitting around a desk filing papers.

So if he was visiting L.A., it probably wasn't a good sign.

Peridot didn't need to be Sherlock Holmes to put all these things together. She just needed proof.

All in good time. Patterns were emerging.

If Pearl came through on her end, it would be a major help.

But she hadn't heard from Pearl in days. And now, she started to worry.

But she decided to worry about it. She had other things to do that day.

* * *

 

"Excuse me. Sorry to bother you, but I figured...My name is Patricia Greene and I'm expecting to meet a friend here. She checked into this hotel the other day, or she told me she was."

"What's your friend's name?"

"Jasper. Jasper Jansen. Sorry to inconvenience you, but I'm an old friend of hers, like, from college back in Chicago and I didn't get a chance to catch up with her. Wanted to see if I could catch her while she hear."

"One moment."

The clerk fingered through a sheaf of hotel cards, while Peridot looked around the hotel uneasily, casing it out.

"Miss Jansen checked out two days ago," the clerk said. "Yes."

"Oh, shoot. Any chance she left a forwarding address? Any way to get in touch?"

"No. Just her address in Chicago."

"That's too bad. Well, I figured I'd check. If she turns up, let her know Patty's looking for her, yeah?"

"Operator, my name is Penelope Oliver. I'm calling for Gregory DeMayo. I believe the spelling is D-E-M-A-Y-O."

"One moment, I'll see if I can reach him."

"Sorry, Miss Oliver. Mr. DeMayo isn't available at the moment."

"Okay. Do you know where he can be reached?"

"I believe he's meeting with someone at RKO to discuss a film project. Private meeting with Mr. Schaefer, I think. Would you like me to leave a message?"

"Nah, I'll get in touch with him another time. Thanks, though."

* * *

 

"Miss Teal, we do have a record of a Lapis Lazuli performing through our agency from May 1936 through June 1938. She was employed as a singer and a model. Then her contract abruptly terminated and we've lost all track of her."

"Any idea of why?"

"No reason is written here. That happens sometimes. People decide they don't want in the industry, or they change their minds, or...something happens."

"Thanks."

* * *

 

"We're sorry, the Diamond Company's business hours are Monday through Friday, 8:00 am to 5:00 pm..."

* * *

 

Brick walls. But Peridot expected as much on a Saturday. 

She ordered a ham sandwich on rye from the local deli and took it to her office. Sat at her desk munching it, sipping some Cel-Ray between bites. Too dry, but the mustard made up for it.  

As she chewed, she tried making sense of the clues and tidbits she'd gotten together.

Nothing that could hold up in court, for sure. Just an aspiring fuhrer, a failed singer and a gang associate turning up within the same few days. Nothing unusual about that, no sir.

But just enough to pique her interest. She figured that she'd get the jump on things once she put a few more pieces together. Call around on Monday, get in touch with her sources one way or the other. 

She crumbled up her sandwich paper and noticed a manila envelope lying conspicuously on her desk. 

She threw the paper away and instinctively looked around her office. 

That envelope hadn't been there when she'd left - had it? And at that, how had _they_  (whoever they were) gotten into her office? 

She reached into her drawer and pulled up her .38, making sure it was loaded. Just in case her unexpected visitor was hanging around.

With one hand trembling uneasily, she reached down and tore open the envelope.

And found a book inside.

It instantly put her on edge:  _The Coming American Fascism_ , by Lawrence Dennis. 

She wondered immediately if this was a threat from someone who'd been watching her. She made sure the pistol was within reach...

She opened the book to the second page and saw an inscription on the frontispiece: 

_"Starlight -_

_"Read this and understand._

_"This country means so much to me and your sisters that we'll do anything to save it._

_"I hope it means the same to you._

_"Mama."_

Just the gross mixture of condescension and motherly certainty chilled her to the bone. Especially in this context. What kind of monster would gift a book like this to their daughter? Who, except maybe Magda Goebbels, would write "Mama" in the context of saving their homeland from Jews and Communists?

Well, Bianca Diamond. 

Peridot leafed through the book, not bothering to read any of Dennis's labored arguments on why fascism would displace tradition capitalism in the United States, though her eyes flickered instinctively to some passage she had evidently underlined for her wayward daughter to study. Instead she figured there was some reason she'd received this...gift. Even if she hadn't particularly wanted it. 

Sure enough, wedged between pages 69 and 70, she found something even more intriguing. 

A receipt.

She carefully removed the yellowed paper and tried to make out the handwriting. 

_"Order from S.E. Massengill Co. (Bristol, TN)_

_"500 pounds of arsenic_

_"200 pounds of DEG_

_"For private use: pest control_

_"Received: 11/30/1938_

_"By: Saffron Sherman"_

Well. That certainly added another piece.

Poison seemed more the Diamonds' style than a gun shot in the desert, she thought. Much more elegant. Refined. Not messy.

Still: 700 pounds of poison? That seemed an awful lot for...whatever they had planned. 

She put the receipt down and continued looking through the book for clues. Just rancid puke, for the most part...

_"The fundamental case is that the masses need the elite, and that that social system promises most in the way of welfare for the masses which best uses and disciplines the elite. So far as the welfare of the masses is concerned, the problem might with good reason be called largely one of getting the best out of the elite..."_

Not exactly a page-turner. Only marginally coherent, in fact. 

_"If the elite cannot be thus eliminated as instruments of destruction of the social order, then other methods for their elimination are followed. The objective of the humane and pragmatic state in its policies with respect to the enemies of the existing order is prevention and not primarily punishment..."_

What is this fucking **drivel**? 

It took a moment for Peridot to register the thought. Prevention of enemies rather than punishment.

Preemptive punishment for crimes, real or imagined.

Dealing death to enemies of fascism before they're even enemies. 

_All'armi siam fascisti._

She reread that passage a few more times, then looked back at the receipt. Madly she started scribbling notes on a piece of paper on her desk. 

And she started putting two and two together. 

"Holy **shit** ," she said out loud. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smedley Butler, a former Marine general, alleged that he was approached by several Wall Street investors in late 1933 to help overthrow the American government with the help of the American Legion and other veterans' groups. Their impetus, it appeared, involved Roosevelt's New Deal policies and particularly his taking American currency off the gold standard. His contact intimidated that a number of wealthy Americans, especially the Du Pont family, bankrolled the conspiracy. Butler refused to participate in the coup and instead reported it to Congress, who held an investigation which determined that Butler's charges were plausible, but failed to implicate any particular individuals. https://tinyurl.com/yazm3uj9
> 
> Lawrence Dennis is a quite bizarre individual, even by the standards of American fascism; he wrote several works trying to "intellectualize" the fascist movement in the '30s (including the book excerpted here), then became involved in isolationist movements and was ultimately indicted for sedition. After his death, his family revealed that he was actually part-black! https://tinyurl.com/ybxobsna
> 
> Finally: Colonel De Vries is a fictionalized version (fictionalized so I can use him in this story) of George Van Horn Moseley, a US Army general who despised Jews, resigned from the military over disagreement with FDR and aligned himself with several fascist movements; he was reportedly the point man in two separate plots to overthrow the government which the FBI uncovered in the late '30s. I recently published a non-fiction column which discusses Moseley and other American fascists of the '30s here: https://tinyurl.com/y7egay3o


	7. Power

Pearl spent a restless weekend in her apartment, worrying that she was being watched.

She didn't go out, fearing a detective would trail her. Didn't answer the phone, thinking it might be tapped. Was reluctant even to grab her mail, even though she hoped for a message from Peridot. 

She didn't like being paranoid. She didn't like living in fear. 

But, she reasoned, better to live in fear for a few weeks or months than for the rest of eternity. 

And she had proof enough in front of her. Maybe. 

The document she'd snatched from Rose's desk, it appeared, discussed more banal things than she expected, or hoped, to find:

**GEOLOGICAL SURVEYS ON GROUND WATER SOURCES IN SAN GABRIEL VALLEY**

**CONDUCTED 11 JANUARY-1 FEBRUARY 1939**

**DR. McDONALD PRESENTS THE FOLLOWING FINDINGS...**

Banalities about sustainable usage rates and soil samples and the work necessary to divert new sources of water to the city and surrounding countryside. Things she would need an engineer to decipher. God knows she hadn't succeeded in two days of trying. 

Part of Pearl realized that corporate documents wouldn't be thrilling, and probably wouldn't contain explosive confessions of misdeeds. She wondered if there was some significance buried therein...and how she might dig it out. 

On the bus ride to work Monday, she nervously scanned a newspaper, seeing all manner of frightful headlines: the death convulsions of Republican Spain, capped by Britain recognizing Franco's government. More restrictions against Jews in Germany, including a decree forcing community leaders to provide police with lists for possible deportation. Hungary forms an alliance with Germany and Italy, adding another dictatorship to Europe's death march.  

Somehow, most nauseating of all, was a story that the United States would see its first publication of _Mein Kampf_ later that day.

All that on top of the German-American Bund holding a huge rally in Madison Square Garden the previous week. Tens of thousands of fascists sieg heiling and goosestepping on American soil beneath a huge poster of George Washington. Then a Jewish veteran rushes the stage to protest them, only to be beaten to a pulp by howling Nazis. A reminder that the menace that Can't Happen Here wasn't so far away, after all.

This was what worried Pearl, what she could understand, what made her sick and scared to the pit of her stomach, what made her want to fight back. What she could fear and hate.

Abstractions were harder to wrestle with. Mysteries were frustrating. Technical reports, of course, were dull. You couldn't punch an actuary chart, only stare at it until your brain exploded.

Further down the front page, Pearl skimmed another headline:

**TWO CHILDREN IN FAIRFAX DEAD, ONE SERIOUSLY ILL**

**TYPHOID SUSPECTED BY LOCAL DOCTORS**

**HEALTH COMMISSIONER ASSURES PUBLIC "NO CONCERN" FOR OUTBREAK**

Something flickered dimly in Pearl's mind. A thought, a worry, a connection she couldn't quite place.

But she didn't have time to decrypt it before the bus shrieked to a stop right in front of the Diamond Building.

* * *

"Your Honor, I would implore you against granting the permit for this demonstration. The German-American Bund has a history of reckless, irresponsible violence in their activities. Just look at the rally they held in New York last week. A protester, a middle-aged, unarmed Jewish man savagely attacked by Fritz Kuhn's henchmen to the delight of the crowd. Not in Berlin, not in Munich or Nuremberg, but in New York City, in the middle of America's largest city, under the harsh lights of Madison Square Garden. I shouldn't think responsible community leaders should want a repeat of that here in Los Angeles, where tensions are already high and political and racial violence not unknown."

The young attorney looked poised and determined as she lectured the judge. It was something she struggled to maintain, since her male colleagues looked for every conceivable slip-up, every flaw, every sign of weakness to denigrate you. That, and she was practically sweating through her suit.

The judge, a bald, rotund man, didn't bother hiding his boredom. He looked like he'd rather be anywhere else, preferably at home asleep rather than face a daylong docket of nonsense. As the woman finished her argument he leaned forward, stifling a yawn, and gestured to her opposite number, a pompous middle-aged man with jet-black hair, the picture of the slimy, duplicitous lawyer. And condescending, too!    

"Miss Zircon, I appreciate your concern and the passion of your arguments. But we live in the United States of America, and the First Amendment protects demonstrations even by groups you don't like. Something tells me that you wouldn't raise the same level of fuss over a demonstration by the Communist Party USA or the Industrial Workers of the World..."

"If those groups had been inciting violence in recent memory..."

"Ma'am, please don't interrupt me. I know you can't help letting your emotions get the better of you..."

"Some things are worth getting emotional about. The spread of fascism, for one..."

"Enough," the Judge interrupted, though he didn't bother raising his head. "You two are attorneys, not children, for God's sake. Of course if you were children, you might be better-behaved." 

He leaned back, stifling a yawn, and starting turning his gavel around in his hands. 

"Mr. Schmidt, continue." 

"Thank you, Your Honor. In any case, my colleague's concerns about violence being incited seem misplaced. Or at least, misapplied."

He reached into his briefcase and produced two leaflets. He read one of them, a crudely-mimeographed piece of Red paper. 

"This one comes from a group calling itself the Brentwood Worker's League. It gives the proposed date, time and location of this meeting, and implores its members to, quote, Not let the fascists and the Bundists have their forum. Workers arise and stop them by all means necessary, end quote. Which seems an incitement to violence to me. 

"Now, the second one is more interesting." This one appeared more professionally printed, with a picture of a gemstone on the front. 

"This one appears to be the work of someone capable of thought and grammar. Of course, it doesn't make its language any less repugnant. Quote, We could not stop the fascists from entering our beloved city. But we will not allow them to control it. This meeting must not happen, end quote. And then the date, time, etc.

"Whatever Miss Zircon might think, this is America. And the First Amendment still applies here. And groups like the Bund and Colonel De Vries have every right to speak, every right to be heard, however repulsive some might find their opinions. After all, George Washington's opinions were repulsive to some people, too. People called Abe Lincoln the Original Gorilla. You don't want to hear what some people say about our current President. And she has the temerity to stand before us today, after hearing these pamphlets, and pretend that the German-American Bund is the one inciting violence! What a joke. You certainly don't have to travel back to the Dark Ages to find record of Communists murdering people, after all...

"Of course, Miss Zircon has her right to her opinion. She, of course, works for a Jewish organization and they might be forgiven for thinking badly of those who treat their people so abominably overseas. But in this country, they haven't. And personally, I prefer to follow American law and not Talmudic law. As, I assume, does Your Honor." 

Miss Zircon looked about ready to reach over and murder him. To forestall that possibility, and to rid himself of a case he couldn't care less about, the Judge sat up to deliver his ruling.

"Miss Zircon, the Los Angeles Jewish League's motion for an injunction against the Bund meeting is denied. The meeting is allowed to go forward next Saturday night as scheduled. I might suggest to Mr. Schmidt that you might persuade them to change venue if he's so concerned about violence. Or apply for police protection. Either way, I see no reason why this meeting should not go forward."

He banged his gavel with lazy finality. 

* * *

"That son of a bitch Schmidt," Annabelle Zircon said afterwards, tearing at a napkin with her hands. "How dare he play that card. Talmudic law instead of American law. Where does that vile little  _pisher_  get off...He should be marching with those Brownshirted bastards." 

"I assume there's a reason why he's working for them," Peridot said dryly.

She offered her a cigarette, which she accepted. Annabelle took a long drag on it and acted a little calmer, looking around the restaurant as if for spies - or for someone to confide in. 

"It's not, like, a hypothetical proposition I'm making here," she continued, taking a sip of water. "The Nazis cause violence, wreak havoc, kill people anywhere they go. And L.A. has a large Jewish population. Not to mention Negroes, Mexicans, the rest...This isn't something I'm worried about for nothing."

"Oh, you don't need to convince _me_ ," Peridot assured her. "We're dealing with some vile people. But even vile people are protected under the Constitution until they break the law."

"More's the pity," Annabelle said. "We shouldn't make it so easy for them. They only care about the Constitution so long as they can make use of it - exploit it - manipulate it. God knows if they get anywhere near the levers of power..."

The two smoked in silence for a moment, letting the thought hang there with the nicotine.

"So what did you wanna see me about?" Annabelle asked. 

Peridot blew a puff of smoke into her face. 

"I'm trying to connect some dots, and right now I'm wondering if I should bother."

"Nazi dots?" Annabelle raised an eyebrow.

"What other kind?"

"Then I'm your gal," the Jewish lawyer said. "What do you have for me?"

Peridot laid out the pieces she had so far, and waited for the lawyer's reaction.

"Well, you've sold me. But what's the pesticide in aid of?"

"Don't know. Can think of a few possibilities, but I'm not sure I want to just now."

"Hmm. The Bund usually isn't this efficient when they're out to kill people, though."

"Oh, I doubt it's them. Not directly. This is someone professional. Someone you pay good money for."

"One of Anastasia's boys?"

"Or girls. If you can call them that. Either way, I have my suspicions."

"Well, if anyone could afford them it's the Diamonds. But usually legitimate businesses like this don't get so...nakedly mixed up with that crowd."

"Hon, there are no legitimate businesses. Trust me, I'm from the Midwest. GM hired the Black Legion to break some skulls when they had labor troubles. The Du Ponts pal around with the Klan. You don't want to know the Rockefellers and Brown Brothers are capable of. United Fruit sends the Marines in when they have problems. Trust me, this is kids' stuff."

"Until someone gets their head blown off," Annabelle interjected. And she looked around helplessly, both angry and frustrated.

"Do you have anything to connect the Diamonds to De Vries? Besides, I mean, the obvious."

"I can check through my files," Annabelle said. "My organization tries keeping a dossier on anyone around here connected to any of these far-right groups. We have files on the Diamonds, so I'll see what I can sort through."

"You do that. If we can find out that they're funding shindigs like this...well, that's a big help."

Peridot stood up and prepared to leave. 

"What are you hoping to find?" Annabelle asked. 

"That I'm right," Peridot answered with a wry smile.

* * *

Pearl spent all morning puzzling different things out. It made it hard to pay attention to things that were happening at the office. Even though they seemed important. Even though she wondered if the bow-tied, bespectacled man presenting facts and figures to them might be the same person who'd put together the report she'd been fussing over. 

"...Once this purchase goes through, we can start sifting through San Gabriel for water. As you all know, water's always at a premium in southern California..."

"Who owns the land now?" Azuria asked, folding her hands together. 

"It's public domain. Was a WPA site, back in the day. So we just have to go through the Federal government."

"That shouldn't be a problem," Azuria smiled, looking over at River, who returned her smile.

Off to the side, Rose struggled not to nod off. She turned to Pearl and shot her a disapproving grimace, sticking out her tongue childishly. It made Pearl smile in spite of herself. 

"Anyway, trying to gain control of the L.A. County Watershed...well, so many people have their fingers in _that_ pie that it's kinda pointless. Not to mention the city. But if we can find a new site to get water into the city, well, that will be something exciting."

"Thrilling," Azuria said, her voice suggesting it's anything but. River nodded.

"And profitable," he added.

"What do you estimate?" River asked. 

"Lowballing it, two or three million dollars a year."

Azuria visibly perked up at this. 

"Well, thank you Doctor," she said, standing up and shaking his hand. "We appreciate all the work you and your team have put in for us. We'll make sure this is worth your while."

"Thank you, ma'am," he said. He looked like he wanted to say something else, then stopped himself and stepped out of the room.

The three Diamond sisters and their assistants remained behind, waiting for him to be out of possible earshot.

"I want this deal to go through, River," Azuria said finally. "It's imperative."

"I understand."

"There's a lot of money to be made off finding a new water source. One that hasn't been tapped by every greedy engineer and every utilities company and every dowser with a divining rod."

Pearl noticed that she seemed to be reading a script, that there was a forced tone to her words that didn't seem entirely convincing. That she was trying to convince _herself_ that this was the reason. 

"Why do we need it?"

Azuria and River perked up, surprised. They turned and saw Rose, who leaned forward expectantly, a quizzical look on her face. 

"With all due respect, sis, why do we need to control any of the city's water? We already have more money than God. And God knows we control enough property and enough business holdings that...this can't possibly add that much into it. Why do a complicated thing when we're already richer than anyone in the state?"

Azuria sighed and put her hand against her forehead, like she'd had this argument before. Like she was preparing to lecture an errant pupil.

Which, Pearl supposed, she was. 

"Because a business must grow," Azuria said patiently. "It cannot contract, it must expand. Like all things in nature, stasis is bad. If we don't grow, we'll collapse under our own weight."

"But we don't even have anything to do with utilities," Rose said. "Why bother?"

"Because water is power out here," Azuria said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

"And we don't have _enough_ power?" Rose asked, animated. "Is there any purpose to all this other than to line your pockets with more money? Any reason besides greed? Control?"

Pearl struggled to contain her surprise. She hadn't seen Rose mouth off to her sisters, not directly. Let alone express an opinion so forceful. So principled.

It made her shiver. Made her feelings of crush that she'd tried so hard to tamp down reappear. 

Azuria seemed enraged. River put a hand on her sister's shoulder and stepped forward.

"Dear, your sister's right," she explained. "Out here...holding power isn't power for its own sake. When a business gets as big as ours, it can't just contract back into a little ball. We need to keep going. We need to make sure we have assets we can rely on. Friends that will help us. And yes, sometimes that means accumulating power. Politicians. Other businesses. It's something we need to do to keep ourselves alive. It's not always pretty...but it has to be done."

"Nothing about helping people, I notice," Rose pouted.

"Honestly, Rose, stop acting like a child," Azuria lectured. River whispered something in her ear and she slammed her fist on a table, then stood up and walked to the other side of the conference room. River turned back to Rose and smiled.

Pearl, remembering their encounter in the dark last Friday, shivered. 

"What is your precise objection?" she asked.

Rose seemed surprised to be asked that question so directly. She stared dumbly for a moment, bit her lip, then took a deep breath, as if relieving herself of an opinion that she'd swallowed for a long time. 

"Water...I'm not an expert. I don't know _anything_ about it. I don't know much about our business, as you keep _reminding_ me." A wounded tone, more resentful and forceful than her earlier pouting, came through clearly.

"But I know enough that...Look, why should **we** have that water? What right do we have to it? Let's say it's there. Let's say we can get at it and make money off. All well and good for us. But what about the people who live there? What about the farmers who need that water to work their land and water their animals and, you know, stay _alive_? It won't matter to them whether we make another two or three million a year. Not if their crops fail. Not if their livestock die. Not if they have  nothing." 

River stepped forward with the most smothering smile Pearl had ever seen. She reached up and put her hand on Rose's cheek. 

"My little idealist," she said, her voice dripping in condescension.

Rose smiled involuntarily. And Pearl hated River more than she ever had before. 

Her eyes flickered involuntarily to Blue, who stood silently, expressionlessly along the side. Saffron, she saw, was fussing with her fingers, watching Azuria anxiously, debating whether to make some effort to calm her down. 

"You're right that we should keep all of this in mind," River told her. Looking at her with feigned admiration, like she was talking to a family pet or examining a gemstone. "I'm glad you reminded us of the human cost. Sometimes we only think about business-" and she shot Azuria, who was still pacing around behind them like a caged lion "-and forget about people. Maybe we talk to Dr. McDonald and see if there's a way we can share the water."

Rose nodded, somewhat mollified, and sat back down. 

"Now, maybe you should go get some lunch," River continued. "Azuria and I have some other business to attend to. But we'll definitely let you know."

Rose considered this, as if she wanted to decline. But she nodded again and stood up, gesturing for Pearl to follow her. 

Pearl did so, shooting River a hateful look. River continued to smile, but Pearl saw a malevolent twinkle as they left. 

"There's still some Upton Sinclair in that girl," Azuria muttered as they left the room.

Pearl turned her head backwards. And Saffron stepped in front of her, face expressionless, and closed the door in Pearl's face. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The German-American Bund was a group organized by Fritz Kuhn, a German immigrant and former Ford executive, which attempted to organize an American fascist movement. At their peak they had upwards of 25,000 members nationwide, enough to fill stadiums, rallies and hold summer camps to indoctrinate their children into fascism. They were initially a paid agency of the German government, though Hitler grew so embarrassed by Kuhn's clownishness that the Nazis eventually cut ties with them. Their infamous Madison Square Garden rally really did happen in February 1939. I didn't know that when I determined the setting, but that's a neat and useful coincidence! Here's a Politico article summarizing the mess: https://tinyurl.com/ychzmmks
> 
> The Bund was quite active in Los Angeles, as well, and involved in criminal and subversive activities in the area. Steve Ross's recent book Hitler in Los Angeles (2017) explores this in damning detail, along with chronicling the efforts of Jewish and progressive groups to combat their influence. An interview with the author: https://tinyurl.com/yam7l6kp
> 
> The Black Legion was a paramilitary group/secret society in the 1920s and 1930s which splintered off from the Ku Klux Klan to form an even more violent group. Though ostensibly a nativist organization targeting Jews, Catholics and African-Americans, they were also employed as strikebreakers who regularly attacked labor leaders and progressives. By the time the FBI cracked down on them in the mid-'30s, they're believed to have murdered at least 50 people, including Earl Little, father of Malcolm X. They were most active in the Midwest, especially Michigan, though they had smaller branches across the country, including Los Angeles. We might see more of them later in the story. https://tinyurl.com/ychw3rc4


	8. Tough Ladies

Tuesday passed, rainy and cold. 

Pearl spent the day inside handling paperwork. Her usual job lately, without much chance to move around or do anything. Though it seemed even more oppressive than previous ones.

Any time she left her desk, she felt she was being watched. Either by River, who always seemed to sense when Pearl stepped out into the hallway and greeted her with a forbidding smile. Or Saffron, who would hove into view any time Pearl so much as sneezed or ruffled a piece of paper, her face a disapproving glower. Or Blue, who tried reassuring her with a wan smile that she could be trusted. 

But Pearl refused to trust either of them. Not any more. 

Part of her wondered why River hadn't had Pearl arrested the previous Friday night. Or at least fired her. She figured the middle Diamond sister was up to something, playing her cards so close to her vest that even Azuria didn't know what River was doing. And it made her suspicious.

Because Azuria seemed easy enough to figure out. She wanted money and power. Typical corporate crook. But River? Who the hell knew? 

And Rose? 

The more time Pearl spent with her, the more...deeply _unhappy_ she seemed. In a different way, maybe than, her sisters, but palpable and painful to observe in close quarters. If she'd at first dismissed Rose as a shallow spoiled brat, she sure didn't any more. Not since her little speech the previous day. 

Her face, so young and fresh-looking at first glance, seemed deeply creased with sadness and worry. Feeling of being wasted and condescended to. And every once in awhile, an active flicker of resentment, an ember of rage cut through the gloom, indicating to Pearl that she wanted desperately to act on these feelings. But didn't know how. 

But Pearl tried to keep her distance. To remain professional. For all she knew, Rose couldn't be trusted any more than her sisters. 

 _Could_ she? 

* * *

 

"Pearl?"

"Yes, Miss Diamond?"

"Did Azuria hand you the report on the Castaic Range account?"

"Let me see. No, sorry, I don't have it yet."

"Of course not. Why do I even ask...?"

Uncomfortable silence. The sound of rain drops, big as fists, slamming against the window pain. Interrupted by a cough from somewhere in the office. And Pearl shuffling the papers on her desk.

"Pearl?"

"Yes, Miss Diamond?"

"I know it's silly to ask but...Can you imagine feeling like you're wasting your life?"

Pearl froze, not sure how to answer.

"Sometimes I do."

"Really?"

"Of course."

"Hmm. It's just funny. I mean, a movie star like you...Guess it shows what I know, huh? That I'd think you wouldn't have any problems." 

Rose put her head in her hands and sighed. 

"I'm sorry. Of course, I'll bet you think I'm just some poor little rich girl who's worried over nothing. Who should be happy because she's from a big shot family and has a cushy legacy job and...doesn't have to do anything with herself."

Pearl was stunned by the strength of her self-loathing and recoiled. She still wanted to tread carefully, but felt she couldn't let Rose alone with those thoughts. 

_So much for not getting involved._

"Don't be sorry," Pearl assured her. "It's all right to feel that way. Because...believe me. All the time I spent in Hollywood...I know a little something about feeling unappreciated. There's more to life than being rich or famous or...thinking you have it all, and really having nothing. None of that matters unless you have peace of mind."

"Yeah?" Rose looked at her hopefully.

"Oh, yeah." Pearl decided to open up, just a tiny bit, to this woman who was trusting her. 

"Back when I first came to town...I suppose people thought I was a bit queer. I'm this tall broad with pink hair...I mean, have you ever seen hair like mine? And they think I dyed it, for God's sakes! Daryl Zanuck spent a month trying to convince everyone that I had a wig or something. It was embarrassing as all get out. 

"And, I mean, it took awhile. Years. I did some small theater roles. I was an extra, a bit player. I refused to do things...Things that would, um, get me up the ladder quicker. Degrade myself, in other words. But you know what? I stuck it out. Because someone spotted me, believed in me, gave me the right role, and..."

And she stared wistfully at the wall. For the first time in awhile, she _missed_ her acting career, despite her harsh words. Part of the reason she tried not to talk about it much...so many conflicting emotions she was still learning how to handle.

"But yeah. Hollywood isn't all glamour and excitement. It's a royal pain in the patoot."

Rose laughed at that word, making Pearl blush.

"...If you'll forgive my language," she continued, flustered. "Because you spend a lot of time sitting on the bench waiting for things to happen...just trying to get by. And even when it does happen...you wonder why you're not doing something important. Why you're just making movies and not doing something that makes a difference or helps people or, you know, changes the world." 

And she sank back into her chair. Now it was _her_ turn to feel depressed. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring the room down."

She felt Rose's hand grab her wrist, and felt flushed with warmth and excitement. She looked over at Rose, who shot her a humane, empathetic smile, and couldn't help returning it. 

"It was already down," Rose assured her. "You couldn't possibly make it go any lower."

"Wanna bet?" Pearl cracked, and the two laughed awkwardly together. 

"What was that word you used?" Rose asked, visibly relieved to feel something joyful. "Patoot?"

"Uh-huh."

"That's lovely." Pause. "It means ass, right?"

Pearl practically choked on her tongue.

"Well...that's not the word I'd use," she managed.

"Obviously not! Still, I'd like to use that some day."

"I'm not gonna stop you."

Rose smiled indulgently, and Pearl blushed again.

"Tell ya what, Pearl," Rose said, sliding off her desk. "We've got two more hours of this sitting around wasting our lives. How would you like to join me for some fun tonight?"

Pearl felt flushed, excited and terrified all at once.

The logical part of her brain wondered: _Will this help with the mission? Can I get anything out of Rose this way? Should I get so close to someone I'm spying on? Is familiarity is good or bad?_

The other part of her, though, was more insistent: _You deserve a break. To have a little fun. It couldn't hurt to let down your hair. Besides, Rose is a total sweetheart._

Well, she could easily rattle off the million ways it **could** potentially hurt. But right now, it didn't seem to matter. 

She fixed a smile on her face and looked Rose right in the eyes. Those beautiful, captivating eyes. She felt a tremor right down to her womanhood, overwhelming her better judgment. Once she mustered the requisite firmness, she snapped off:

"Why not?"

* * *

 

They looked enough alike to be sisters.

Pearl stared down the dinner table at four women, three of them tall and brawny, the last short, and squat. All of them made an effort to look nice, except the last, who squatted in a casual dress. All had varying shades of hair color, from platinum blonde to jet black; all had swarthy skin and rough countenances, though they seemed perfectly cheerful and welcoming.

The air hung thick with smoke, which was fine; the decor was drab and dingy, white walls with peeling paint, a small band indifferently playing Cole Porter songs. A clientele of working and lower middle class Los Angelinos dressed in their one nice outfit, enjoying cheap steaks, half-cooked potatoes and watery beer in lieu of a fancy place. 

A much coarser crowd, and lousier restaurant, than Pearl would expect someone like Rose to associate with. But then, Pearl could well imagine a bored rich girl like her slumming it with these types. Even if these ladies leaned towards the extreme side. 

 _Stop thinking of her that way,_ Pearl scolded herself. _You're passing judgment again._

"These are my pals, Xahlia, Lex and Janey," Amethyst, the shortest one, said, introducing her buddies. "We all grew up in East L.A. and...let's say it wasn't pretty back then."

"Takes a lot of toughness to survive in those parts," Xahlia pronounced in a gruff, raspy voice. "Even if you're a lady."

" _Especially_ if you're a lady," Lex said, punching Xahlia on the shoulder. 

"If there's one thing we've got going for us," Amethyst announced with a broad grin, "it's that we're all tough. And all ladies."

"Tough ladies!" they shouted, smashing their glasses together and laughing. 

"Couldn't Skinny and Carmelian make it tonight?" Rose asked. "I was kinda hoping they'd make it. It's a special night, after all..."

"Skinny's working and who ever knows what's up with Carmelian?" Lex said, licking beer foam off her upper lip. "Can't ever keep track of her."

"What about Greg?" Amethyst teased, brushing back her blonde hair. "He gonna make it tonight? Or will all the _tough ladies_ scare him off?"

Rose shook her head. "Haven't heard from Greg in awhile," she said, a little bitterly. "Guess he's busy with all his Hollywood pals...Bunch of leeches. Suck away your time along with everything else..."

She looked over at Pearl, who shot her a disappointed look.

"Sorry, Pearl," she hastily sputtered. "Present company excepted, of course."

"Of course," Pearl muttered, though she looked down at her feet in embarrassment. "No problem..." 

_She's dating a **man**? But what about..._

_Goddammit, Pearl, you sure know how to fall for the wrong ones!_ She certainly wouldn't be the first straight woman she'd develop feelings over.

She took a few deep breaths to steady herself, until she could swallow her disappointment.

"Greg's a screenwriter," Rose explained. "It's been awhile since he's sold a script to anyone, though. He's been meeting with people all over town, trying to sell his latest story...a dozen rejections so far."

"What's he writing?" Pearl asked. 

"I forget," Rose confessed. "He has a few that's he working on...I can't remember the last one he had produced. It's been at least a year...He had one made into a movie with Spencer Tracy last year, but it wasn't very good...Don't tell him I said that. He would kill me."

"I liked it," Lex offered. "For a romance it was entertaining."

"Yeah, but Greg writes better action pictures," Amethyst insisted. "Like, you'd think he was a real tough guy the way he writes those gangster stories. That one, what was it? _Darkest Night_? The one with Cagney and Bogart? Had the best shootout at the end I've ever seen. Just two guys blasting away at each other with Tommy guns and yet it was so suspenseful..."

"That was more the work of the director," Lex insisted. "Bill Wellman, right? He's always good. The _story_ was the usual crap they've done a million times before. Two friends on opposite sides of the law, one's a crook, one's a cop, they fight over a woman, blah blah blah. That's the most cliched storyline **ever**."

"No one ever accused Greg of originality," Rose admitted, rolling her eyes. 

"Yeah, but it works," Amethyst insisted. "Nobody goes to those kinda movies for the _story_...they go for the heroes beating the holy hell out of each other."

"You have a very shallow mode of watching movies, Ames..." 

"Wait a minute," Pearl said, putting together pieces of the conversation. "Greg? Gregory DeMayo is your...?"

Rose nodded, then blinked. "Oh, that's right. You know him?"

"We've met," Pearl said, though it was more accurate to say "We've been in the same room together." "And I'm certainly familiar with his work."

"Oh, have you...?" Then Rose gasp and her face went wide.

"Wait a minute...you did that Western with Randolph Scott."

"That's right!" 

"You were actually **in** one of his pictures!?!" Rose enthused, bursting into an excited smile. "Holy moly...I didn't even think that...How didn't I figure...? That is so amazing. Incredible! Greg will get a kick out of this." 

"Well, I doubt he remembers me," Pearl said. Which was probably true; she hadn't interacted with Greg, but remembered that he'd wanted Barbara Stanwyck to play her character instead, only the studio wouldn't let Babs out of her contract.

But still...small world. She shouldn't be surprised, but she was. And a bit disappointed.

Disappointed that she would lose out to a hack screenwriter. But then winning Rose's heart was just a silly, girlish pipe dream anyway.

 _Snap out of it, Pearl,_ she commanded. _You're on a mission. Get back into that mindset. Now you don't have an excuse._

"So what are you doing working as a secretary, Pearl?" Amethyst asked. 

Pearl really didn't want to get into that tonight. She was struggling to relax and enjoy the evening as it was.  

"It's...complicated."

"Oh, come on! What's wrong, did you get in trouble with the law? Demand too much money? Refuse a blowjob to the wrong person.

"Amethyst!" Rose snapped. 

Pearl let out a sigh. "Something like that." 

Amethyst recognized it was a sore point and decided not to press.

"Gotcha," she said. "Sorry to hear that, though. You were really special."

The _were_ hurt; the past tense reminding Pearl that she wasn't a star, wasn't anyone any more. 

"Thanks," she said. 

"I mean it. You were one of my favorite actresses, and whatever happened to you...well, it wasn't fair."

"I appreciate it," Pearl assured her. 

"Is it true you were gonna make an action picture?" Janey asked. "I remember reading that, was it _Variety_?"

Pearl perked up and smiled, a little flattered that they asked.

"Oh, that?" She chuckled. "Yeah. It was...gonna be like an Errol Flynn movie, I guess. Only with ladies. And more humor."

"That would have been swell!" Amethyst exclaimed, leaning forward dreamily. "If you can sword fight anything like you can ride a horse..."

"Maybe someday I'll show you!" Pearl said.

"Don't tease me like that, Pearl," Amethyst said. "If you're gonna promise me swordplay, you'd better deliver."

"Maybe when we get to know each other better," Pearl responded with a wink. 

And Amethyst and her friends chuckled, and Rose smiled with delight. And suddenly Pearl didn't feel sad, or out of place any more. 

* * *

"Not really a mystery," Rose assured Pearl. "We became friends...Well, I knew Amethyst for _years_. Back when she was still a girl in East L.A. and I was still, well, young little Rose. Don't remember how we first met, but..." 

"She used to be really political," Amethyst interrupted. "Not like her sisters, maybe the complete opposite. I mean, like, she was practically a Communist. They used to call her Pink Diamond."

She chortled and slapped Rose on the back, but Rose didn't see the humor in it. Instead, her sadness returned. 

"Well, I did a lot for Upton Sinclair back in 1934," she admitted.

"No fooling?" Pearl asked. "So did I!"

Rose barely acknowledged this. "Well, I did some things...door-to-door canvassing, handing out pamphlets, you know, the real groundwork. Meeting Mr. Sinclair's supporters. A lot of them were poor, down-on-their-luck folks in farms out in the middle of the state, living from harvest to harvest. And they were the lucky ones next to the migrants and the people who the Depression depressed. No money for relief, nothing from corporations, no hope for advancement. Living in tents and tar paper shacks...the children starving...It was horrifying. It made me sick. And it made me want to do something. Need to do something...

"What that something was...Maybe it was wrong. But I look at it as a Jean Valjean thing. I know you've read _Les Miserables_ , right?"

"Well, I read a screenplay adaptation of it..." Pearl admitted; Victor Hugo was a literary blind spot. 

"Hmm. Well, I was still...I stole $10,000, okay, out of the family fortune. And I gave it to Sinclair. And my sister found out, and the first thing she did was tell my mother. And you can bet she wasn't thrilled about it."

Pearl thought about the portrait of Bianca in the foyer of the Diamond building, and shuddered. 

"But she was generous - I guess," Rose pouted, looking down at the table. "She told me if I don't involve myself in politics anymore, she wouldn't get me in trouble. And so...I've tried not to. I've had to pretty much give myself to the business and whatever fun I can wring out of my free time. Even though my sisters don't trust me to do anything more than kid's stuff..." 

"Your mom, with all due respect, is a colossal bitch," Amethyst said. 

Pearl blushed again at Amethyst's harsh language, and started to say something. Rose raised her hand to still Pearl, then took a long sip of her beer.

"Man, this beer is _awful_ ," she said, sticking out her tongue sliding her glass across the table.  

"Well, if it helps," Pearl offered, "I kinda felt the same way. I mean, a lot of people in Hollywood are political, one way or the other, but...when you're just starting out, you know, if you speak out on any issues, you take your career into your own hands. Better to wait until you're established enough that it doesn't matter.

"But, a lot of the people I met earlier in my time there...Marlene Dietrich was one of the first friends I made. She's a wonderful woman. And she was so _angry_ when she told me about what Hitler was doing to her homeland...How she could never go back because Germany wasn't Germany any more. Kate Hepburn was the same way. Well not _quite_ the same, but yeah, she was talking about Hitler and Mussolini before anyone outside of Europe gave a damn."

"Ooh, name dropper!" Janey said. Xalia chuckled. 

"So yeah, I got into politics, too," Pearl continued, ignoring them. "But I had to keep quiet about it...because if I said or did the wrong thing...well, people were afraid. _Are_ afraid of offending people. Even if they're absolutely  repulsive people."

"Greg was telling me about that," Rose interrupted. "A year or two back, he wrote a script where the villain was a German spy. Paramount wanted to option it, but they insisted that he change the German spy to coming from some made-up country. Because they didn't want to hurt the box office in Germany. Because they didn't want to offend Dr. Goebbels."

"I'm not very political," Amethyst admitted, crossing her arms. "But I know right from right. And these guys make my skin crawl. They're just like the bullies we grew up with, only with a lot more power and a lot bigger guns. And if things are so bad that you can't make a _movie_ about them...well, that's just wrong."

"Well, what can you do?" Pearl asked lamely. "I mean, we're just a few individuals swimming against the tide. What difference can we make?"

Her very question was a lie, considering her mission, but she played it well.

Amethyst and her friends exchanged conspiratorial glances. And Rose's face lit up, animated with mischief. 

"Pearl...I realize it's a risk asking you this, but...would you **really** like to know?" 

Pearl shivered again, this time with fear. Because she didn't know what that meant.

"Know what?" she asked. 

"There are plenty of ways to lick the bad guys," Rose told her mysteriously. "If I could, I'd just give money to the right causes, help raise funds and organize, but...that's not an option. Fortunately, I know some other people-" she winked at Amethyst, who shot her a thumbs-up - "who showed me there are other ways to do it." 

"What ways?" Pearl asked. 

Before Rose could say more, a thin woman with scraggly blonde hair raced into the restaurant, bumping past a waiter and nearly knocking over a couple's water pitcher. 

"Skinny, wasn't expecting you tonight," Amethyst greeted her. 

The woman breathlessly balanced herself on the table, then grabbed Lex's beer glass and gulped it down.

"You're gonna pay for that," Lex warned, shaking a fist.

"Sorry," Skinny muttered. "But Rose...I know you guys are just being social tonight, but there's an emergency outside of town."

"What kind of emergency?" Rose asked, leaning forward intently. 

Skinny looked around, then reached into her coat and pulled out a black mask decorated with a skull-and-crossbones.

"They're at it **again**?" Rose asked quietly, regarding it. 

"Well, they're like roaches," Amethyst muttered. "Run them out of one place, they'll turn up somewhere else." 

Rose tore at the seems of the mask, deep in thought. Unsure what to do. 

"Is everyone ready?" she asked finally. 

Amethyst nodded quietly, and her friends joined them. 

Rose turned to Pearl. Gone was any trace of humor or sadness; now, only grim determination. Which made Pearl's heart leap into her throat.

"Pearl, you wanted to see how we fight fascists," she challenged her. "Well...we can show you. If you're up for it. I won't make you come along if you don't want to. It's dangerous, and probably illegal, but...it's the right thing to do."

Pearl's head spun with excitement. She didn't even have to think twice before answering. 

"Let's go kick their patoots."

 

 

 


	9. Legion

That evening, Gary Browning came from work, enjoyed a chicken dinner with his family and listened the radio before retiring to his office. He hoped to get some paperwork done for his gun shop tonight, since a big out-of-town client planned to visit tomorrow. As he retired to his office, his wife signaled him that he'd received a telephone call.

"Gary," he answered.

"Gary, it's Mike. Listen, we've got some business to take care of tonight. Could use your help."

"Are you sure?" Gary asked, fiddling with his mustache and looking at his wife, starting to wash her dishes. "I have a big day ahead of me and want to square away some things first..."

"Kinda urgent," Mike insisted. "Remember that pinko who was causing trouble at the DuPont plant last year? Bronstein, I think his name was?"

"Oh, that fucking kike," Gary muttered under his breath. He dimly remembered that man causing a work stoppage, receiving a few friendly reminders from the local Legion chapter to stop his shenanigans, and continuing anyway. 

"Well, we got him at the warehouse outside Yorba Linda. Me, Tommy and Craig are already there."

"Yeah, I'll be right out." Feigning a conversation for his wife's benefit, he added: "Yeah, I know, but what can you do?" 

Gary hung up the phone and sighed. His wife came over, looking a bit miffed.

"What did Mike want?" she asked.

"Crazy business. Lodge stuff." Which wasn't _entirely_ a lie, depending on how a person defined a "lodge."

"Aren't your meetings on Thursday nights?"

"Yeah, but there's some business with...we're having that big supper next month and the caterer back out at the last minute. Mike and Tommy wanna figure out what we're gonna do." 

"Is he a Jew?" his wife asked, having heard the mumbled insult.

"I guess so," Gary said, a little sheepish at being overheard. "Yeah, I told 'em I was busy, but..."

"That's all right," his wife said, kissing him on the forehead. "Just don't be out too late."

"Yeah."

Gary walked back into his office and sighed, ruffling through the papers on his desk. He signed two last orders waiting for him, then reached into his drawer and pulled out two items. A .38 caliber revolver, already fully loaded, and a black mask with a skull-and-crossbones stitched on it.

 _No rest for the True Americans,_ he told himself. 

He stepped into his car, making sure the gun was ready, making sure his outfit was prepared, trying to remember where Mike told him to meet. Then he turned on the radio, catching the end of _Terry Regan, Attorney at Law_  as he sped down the highway.

* * *

Derek Bronstein spent forty agonizing minutes in the company of his tormentors. Three men dressed in black robes and mask took turns beating him with heavy, lead-lined truncheons as he stumbled around a warehouse, illuminated by the lights of their cars. His left hand was broken, his right eye swollen shut; his body bled from dozens of smaller bruises and cuts. And he staggered about, exhausted to the last reserves of his strength.

"Please...what do you _want_?" he choked out. A question which earned him a rap across his chest, crushing two of his ribs.

"You know what we want, Jew-boy," one of the men growled. "You got reminded twice to drop your activities. Now, we were friendly and civil to you. We explained why this was unacceptable. A real, honest, hard-working American would have seen the light and quit while he was ahead. But you, Christ-killer, are obviously not that."

He struck Bronstein again, this time across the forehead, sending him sprawling to the ground. Another man stepped forward and kicked him in the gut with an iron-heeled boot. 

"Now, you had your chance to make good, and you didn't take it. So here is your recompense."

Another kick, a cry strangled by a burble of blood and saliva. 

They heard a car driving up to the warehouse and stopped for a moment, each drawing a pistol. They waited and saw a fourth man get out. The leader, relieved, lowered his weapon and sighed.

"Took you long enough," Mike sighed.

"Figured he'd hold until I got here," Gary said. 

Without further word he stood over Bronstein and shook his head, before drawing his pistol and aiming it. 

"Do you think he's suffered enough?" he asked flatly.

"Your call, boss," Mike assured him.

Gary looked around at his colleagues, their eyes betraying little emotion through the holes in their masks. Gary took a deep breath and pulled back the hammer on his pistol, then aimed it at the man. The others followed suit. 

Just before Gary could fire his weapon, they heard a loud bang. And watched as a figure in a heavy white robe stepped forward.

"Who the hell are you?" Mike called out.

"Let him go," the interloper commanded. Gary's face blanched in surprise; it was obviously a woman's voice.

"Fat chance, honey," one of the other men called. Another chortled. 

"I'm giving you one more chance," she said. "This man has done nothing to you - certainly nothing to warrant this."

"This man is a Jewish Communist agitator," Mike said, stepping forward in challenge. "Somebody out to poison our country. Somebody who needs to be eradicated."

"No, he's a human being."

"Enough sentimental bullshit. Clearly you don't know what you're talking about, honey. Go home."

"Afraid I can't do that," the woman said. She offered a wan smile, barely visible through her hood.

"What are you? The Angel of Mercy?" one of the men asked. 

Beneath his mask, Gary smiled, unable to hide his amusement.

The woman raised her head and flipped back the hood on her robe. Gary and the others gasped. She was a stunningly beautiful redhead, her eyes flaring defiance, her mouth twisted into a mocking grimace.

"No," Rose said. "We're the Angels of Death." 

As she said that, the four men heard glass shattering behind them and saw four other women, three tall and well-built, the fourth small and stocky, stepping towards them. Each carried a blunt instrument in their hands. 

"What kinda degenerates...?" Gary started, moving his gun back and forth between Rose and the others, his hand starting to tremble. "Go home, all of you!"

"Fat chance, buster," Amethyst snarled, pounding a truncheon in her hand. 

The men looked at each other uncertainly, watching the women edge closer. Finally, Gary turned to Rose and aimed the gun directly at her head.

"Don't shoot, or I'll blow her fucking brains all over that nice robe!" he shouted. But his voice quavered with fear, only making them last. 

"Not too worried about _that_ ," Amethyst said, examining the other three men, who stood still, confused, angry and not knowing what to make of her. "Don't think you have the balls, frankly." 

"Some kinda fucking freak," one of them muttered to another.

"Maybe," Amethyst conceded. "Takes some kinda freak to take pleasure in _this_ -"

And she moved forward and busted the nearest man's kneecap, causing him to fall screaming to the ground.

"-And to do **this** ," Amethyst continued, striking his partner in the throat.

Gary and Mike stood back to back, aiming their guns.

"Funny, you didn't shoot her," Amethyst mocked. "So what's to stop me from breaking your skull open?"

"You don't know who you're dealing with," Mike rasped. 

"Yeah, I think I do," Amethyst said, pretending to size him up. "You're all the same. Bunch of maladjusted, middle-aged pencil-pushing creeps who think that you're saving America by beating the shit outta someone weaker than you. A bully who desperately wants to be a hero."

Amethyst sidled right up to Mike and stared him in the eyes, her green irises glowing with hatred. 

"You sure picked a funny way of being one," she said quietly. 

Mike raised his gun and aimed it at Amethyst, who wrapped him across the wrist, sending his weapon flying. Then he reached for his truncheon and swiped at her. Amethyst easily ducked his blow, then kicked Mike in the testicles, sending him reeling backwards. 

Gary stole a look at the others, watching Amethyst's pals hanging back, waiting to see if they were needed. So far they weren't, appearing satisfied to watch their friend beat the shit out of Mike.

Then Mike looked back at Rose, who challenged him with a beatific smile, both defiant and welcoming, its dissonant serenity shattering his brain.

 **"Bitches!"** he barked, unable to say anything else. He fired two shots at Rose, somehow missing her at a range of five feet. 

Rose lowered her head and smirked, then threw off her robe and revealed a baseball bat under her arm.

"You had your chance," she said, mockingly repeating Mike's words from earlier. 

She rushed forward with her bat, striking Gary in the face with the end. Reeling backwards, the man fired his pistol wildly, crying out as Rose smashed him in the arm and leg and chest. He fell to the ground coughing, helplessly firing his empty gun at her.

Mike managed to regain his footing and rushed towards Amethyst with his truncheon in arm. Amethyst gamely stepped aside, and he ran smack into Xalia, who smashed him in the face with her weapon. 

"Save some for **me**!" Janey shouted, kicking him in the midsection. He flew to the ground, landing on top of one of his colleagues, gasping in pain.

Gary staggered to his feet, watching the women gathered around him, eager for his next move. His eyes darted between them in disbelief and terror. 

Finally, he threw his empty pistol at Rose and made a break for it. 

He ran as fast as his fleshy, middle-aged legs could carry him. He tore off his robe as he ran, though he left his mask on in a desperate attempt to hide his identity.

He ran past his car towards the woods. Until he felt something hard strike him in the back of the head.

He fell, sprawling, into the dirt, body flashing with pain.

The last thing he saw, before losing consciousness, was the weapon which had rendered him unconscious. 

A high-heeled shoe. 

* * *

"Whoo, Pearl! That was the most incredible move I've ever seen!" Amethyst cheered. "You zonked the guy out with a fucking _shoe_! Forget about a sword, you're the deadly weapon." 

"Pretty incredible," Skinny agreed. She hadn't taken part in the fighting herself, having stayed in the car with Pearl and watched her new friend act firsthand. "Definitely ballsy of you."

Pearl stood there in shock, looking at Gary's unconscious body, her hands over her mouth in disbelief. 

Yet the disbelief faded. The adrenaline rush kicked in. And the pride at what she'd done overtook her. 

"It was just a lucky throw," she muttered quietly, not really believing it.

"Nah, that takes some incredible skill," Amethyst insisted, rushing forward to give Pearl a crushing hug.

"You're my new favorite actress!" Xalia said, joining her. Janey and Lex just stood back and nodded approvingly. 

Pearl recoiled a bit from their attention. She looked past them and saw Rose, helping the injured Derek to his feet, letting him put an arm around her shoulder. 

"We need to get him out of here, **now** ," she commanded. "These bastards hurt him really bad. Make room in the car."

Janey and Lex nodded and grabbed Derek, directing him towards the backseat. Rose looked after them, then turned to Pearl, who still hadn't moved. 

"Pearl...are you okay?"

Pearl stood there. "Yeah."

Rose's face twisted into an awkward, apologetic expression. 

"Sorry, I didn't know...I wasn't sure how I could explain this to you. But...yeah, this is what I do on my off-hours."

She forced a chuckle at her little joke, then turned to Pearl. She still hadn't moved. 

"Pearl, please say something."

Pearl stared at her, breathing heavily. She noticed blood from Derek, or possibly the Legion thugs, staining Rose's outfit. And instinctively, panickedly scanned her for injuries.

Then, assured that Rose wasn't hurt, Pearl allowed the tiniest of smiles to creep over her face.

"That was the most amazing thing I've ever done in my life!"

Rose beamed and rushed forward, giving Pearl a heavy, crushing hug. 

And Pearl returned the hug, flushed with adrenaline and excitement and joy that seemed entirely inappropriate for the situation. 

But it didn't matter. It all felt so thrilling. It felt so **right**. 

More than anything, being in Rose's arms right that moment...felt so right.

* * *

"Yes, I've been trying to organize a chapter of the AFL out here," Derek Bronstein said through the pain of his injuries. "Four months ago...managed a small sit-down strike until they gave us a wage. These guys tried to intimidate me after that...Sent me cards with death threats, put a bullet in my mailbox, then sent a creep with a peg leg around to scare me. Well, some things are more important, so I told them to fuck off and..."

"I admire that," Rose said, wrapping a bandage around his shattered hand. "I really do. You're a brave man."

"Right now I feel like a _dumb_ man," he said. 

"Same thing," Amethyst joked. 

As they drove, Pearl muttered inaudibly under her breath.  

"What happens to them back there?" Derek asked.  

"Those creeps?" Rose scoffed. "Let me tell you something. The Black Legion never took root out here. These guys aren't the bastards who took over the Midwest five years ago. They're just some miserable guys with black masks and baseball bats playing patriot. Obviously that's enough to hurt you," she assured him. "But they're gonna back off once they've had some sense scared into them. And something tells me that they won't be too eager to tell people that some girls beat the living shit out of them." 

"Yeah, maybe," Derek said doubtfully. Then he added, wincing through pain in his face:

"Unless they have friends."

And Rose didn't have an answer to that. So they spent the rest of the car ride in silence.

* * *

Rose dropped off Pearl at her apartment around 11:00 pm. They'd deposited Derek at a friendly doctor's home, and Amethyst and her sisters had gone their separate ways.

"Pearl, are you sure you're okay?" Rose said. "I know this must not be easy to process..."

"I'm better than okay," Pearl told her. "Remember what I said about making a difference? Well, somehow this feels..."

Rose's face crinkled in admiration, then struck a note of warning.

"Well, it's not...I don't know if it's right or not. But it **feels** right. People like that shouldn't be given free rein to hurt anyone they want. Let alone to try and take over this country. God knows there are more of them than we know what to do with." 

"You don't have to sell me," Pearl insisted, grinning in response. "Trust me. I know better than anyone..."

And she caught herself, not wanting to say more than she felt comfortable with.

"Well..." Rose began, letting her words hang there, not sure what to say. "Listen...I'm not gonna make you join us for something like that again. Tonight it was kind of an emergency situation, you know. Wouldn't have asked you along if I could have helped it. And it's dangerous, as you can tell. Believe me, some of these guys are much better at the whole Brownshirt thing than the pirate clowns we fought tonight. So, I don't want you to join me if you don't want...If you think it's too..."

Pearl leaned forward and pressed a hand against Rose's cheek.

"I want to," she said, in the sweetest, most appreciative voice she could.

Rose beamed in surprise, then returned Pearl's smile and stroked the back of her hand.

"My Pearl," she whispered. 

And the two stood there like that for a moment that seemed endless.

"Next time, just give me a heads up, okay?" Pearl said, bravado creeping back into her voice.

"Sure thing," Rose agreed, pulling away.

"That way I can bring my sword."

Rose goggled at her for a moment, then burst into disbelieving laughter.

"That'll definitely come in handy!" she said, doubling over against the car door. "Oh Pearl...I'm so glad you came tonight."

"And so am I."

Rose got back into her car and smiled.

"Well...good night."

And she freighted those three words with all the meaning in the world. 

And Pearl stood there on the street, head spinning with excitement and worry, wondering what this meant for her and her mission and her job with the Diamonds...

Wondering what Peridot would think.

And wondering, right now, whether that mattered in the least. 

 

 

 


	10. Roosevelt's Nose

"Miss Mulwray, you know that we don't mind helping private investigators like yourself when we can," the tall, balding bureaucrat said, fixing the hands on a clock. 

"Actually, Mr. Curtin, my experience has been the opposite," Peridot said, fiddling with her spectacles. "Getting information from the city government is like pulling teeth with rusty pliers." 

Mr. Curtin fussed with his shirt and wandered back towards his desk. He looked down at the desk drawer for a moment, hesitated, then sat down, folding his hands together.

"Have you thought about taking a look at the plat maps in the Hall of Records? They're updated fairly regularly, and they should have the information you need."

"Yeah, I was there yesterday. They keep giving me the run-around saying that the maps are out being updated." 

"That's most peculiar."

" **Most** peculiar," Peridot agreed. "Almost seems like somebody's hiding something."

She let the accusation hang there. The bureaucrat cleared his throat, then looked at her.

"Forgive me," he said. "Have a tickle in the back of my throat." He coughed as if to illustrate.

"Well, you're talking about the property the Diamond Company wants to purchase in the San Gabriel Valley? Yeah. It's kinda ridiculous. They're talking about getting water out of a valley that has little or none available. This is what happens when you're dealing with the _nouveau riche_. You'd expect broads would have more sense - pardon my, um..."

"It's my experience that broads don't have any more sense than your average man," Peridot said gravely.

"Well, what's more important is that they're looking for water where there isn't any! Not enough for what they're planning, anyway. All the water in that valley's being used by farmers and personal land. You couldn't make more than a few bucks from it if you spent a century digging for it."

"What makes you think they don't know different?"

Mr. Curtin looked offended that Peridot might question his expertise. Coolly, she leaned forward and smiled.

"I mean, those big companies usually know what they're doing," she explained. "Can't they get a geologist or some other kinda expert in there to determine...?"

"A geologist! Well sure. A geologist can tell you anything for the right price. Especially if it's one like they've hired."

"How's that?"

"Guy named McDonald. Ask over at Water and Power. They'll tell you what you need to know."

* * *

 

"Yes, Miss Mulwray," the young Water and Power Bureaucrat said. "We are very familiar with Horace McDonald. Degree in geology from the University of California, Los Angeles. Worked for the State, then the Federal Government for a time, helped develop plans for refurbishing and redirecting the Owens Valley Aqueduct in a way that wouldn't antagonize farmers again. Did a miracle for us until we realized that he was redirecting water for the benefit of a corporate benefactor. So we fired him in 1935 and so far as I know he branched out into private consulting."

"Backing up just a second...Who was that benefactor? If I could ask."

"Does it matter?" he huffed self-righteously. "Corruption is corruption."

Not helpful. 

"Maybe," Peridot admitted. "But see, from my experience, the best way to stop corruption is to figure out who's corrupt so there's a chance you might stop them before they're corrupt in the future. If you get my drift."

The Bureaucrat stared at her through thick spectacles, struggling to comprehend.

"Listen, Slim," Peridot snapped, losing patience. "Dr. McDonald's working for the Diamond Company and the Diamond Company just bought a big tract of land out in San Gabriel. Ostensibly they're buying it to tap into a new source of water but I just had your pal over in General Services tell me that there **is** no water over there. So, either one of you is hiding something from me or they know something you don't and you clods are too full of yourselves to admit it."

The Bureaucrat still didn't say anything. He seemed offended and baffled at once, a simpering child trying desperately to project authority to someone older, smarter and meaner. 

"Personally Slim, I don't pretend to know everything," Peridot lectured, struggling to keep her tone even. "That's why I ask questions. I get wise. I _learn_ things that way. Expand my horizons. That's why I'm asking you instead of throwing you out the fucking window of your own office." 

She flashed the man as sincere a smile as she could muster under the circumstances.

"So, please, what do you know about water in the San Gabriel Valley?"

* * *

One thing Peridot would give city security: they didn't violently heave you out of the building with potential for serious injury. Instead, they very politely dumped you down the stairs. Just enough to make Peridot dizzy and hit her head and funny bone glancingly on the pavement, and tear the sleeve of her jacket.

Undaunted, she dusted herself off and walked down the street, getting in her car to cool off before she did something impulsive, stupid and violent.

She was sore, and angry, and hungry for a sandwich. But right now her brain was too geared into her task to think about anything else.

So she drove back to the Hall of Records, went back to the acne-spottled librarian, who rolled his eyes and sighed heavily when he recognized her.

"Excuse me, son. I'm sorry to bother you again, but I'm wondering if the plat maps for the San Gabriel Valley came back yet."

"They did not," he told Peridot through a cracking voice. "But I do have something that might be of interest to you."

"Oh?" 

He got up from his desk and led Peridot over to a book stand. Peridot looked down and saw a large geographic atlas of the region.

"Maybe this will help with what you're looking for," he said, face crinkling into a smile. 

"Wow, thanks," Peridot said, surprised to finally receive a little assistance. 

"Let me know if you need anything else," he muttered. Peridot turned her head and saw that he'd already made his way back to his desk.

She sat down, pulled out a pencil and started tapping it against a paper as she leafed through the book's oversized pages, until she reached the map for the region in question.

She stared blankly at the page for about fifteen minutes before she realized that she had no fucking idea how to read it.

_Well, shit._

* * *

 

"Yes, my name is Pauline Wright and I'm a reporter for the _Evening Herald and Express_. I understand that Colonel De Vries is in town."

"He is. This is Captain Bates, his secretary."

"Sorry to bother you, Captain. Is it possible to interview the Colonel? Any time this week is fine."

A heavy silence came on the line.  

"What about?" Bates finally answered.

"About his reason for revisiting the area. Whether he's hoping to take another shot at political organization in this area, or whether he feels it unnecessary considering the recent strides that his movement has made." 

Another pause. Peridot could hear thinly muffled mumbling on the other line. 

"I will have to ask him, but the Colonel's pretty selective about which papers he provides interviews to."

"I'm sure, I understand that he's a busy man..."

"Especially towards papers that have a history of printing unfair and untruthful slanders against his character."

"Well, I assure that * **I*** didn't write those stories..."

"Your paper ran an article calling him, and I quote, 'an aspiring Hitler, a wannabe Caesar and an all-around loser convinced he's a winner,' end quote. As you can imagine, the Colonel didn't appreciate that characterization very much."

"Well, I apologize for that..."

"You gonna put that apology in writing, sweetheart?" 

"That's what I'm hoping to do with this interview! Allow the Colonel to tell his side of the story. Show us how and why we were wrong."

"He does that every time he opens his mouth. And soon enough he'll show the rest of the country, too..." 

And Peridot hung up, cursing that she hadn't pretended to represent a more appropriate paper. 

* * *

 

Peridot sat on top of a hillside, surveying the valley through binoculars. She'd parked roughly along the edge of the property purchased by the Diamonds, as shown in teh map.

It looked dry and uninviting, aside from the occasional tree, a far-off grove of trees and a smudge of mountains in the distance. Colder, too, than she liked, or was used to. She could barely make out Pasadena off to the north. 

There didn't seem enough here to entice anyone. It wasn't ugly land, exactly; it was picturesque in that bland, repetitive way much of Southern California is. But even Peridot could guess that it would take a lot of work to get any water out of it. 

She wished that she'd managed to snag a copy of that map, beyond the handful of unhelpful notes she'd cobbled together. Surely she knew somebody who might be able to read it...

Before she could beat herself up too much, however, her concentration was broken by the sound of gunshots.

She winced at the first shot, then adjusted. Then heard the jackhammer _rat-tat-tat_ of machine gun fire.

And that piqued her interest. 

As she crept towards the sound, the didn't know whether she regretted or was grateful that she hadn't brought her own weapon along.

* * *

 

It was the old WPA camp, a small collection of wooden hutments anchored by two large shacks. Peridot adjusted the binoculars towards the center of the camp, bustling with activity, the air wafting with gun smoke. An American flag fluttered above the encampment. 

She saw a collection of about two dozen men, wearing silver-and-gray outfits, firing what looked like Tommy guns at a collection of targets. Their aim, so far as Peridot could make out at this distance, was rather sloppy; she watched bullets crash into the dirt and slam into the side of the shack. Only a few seemed to hit the targets, which remained still, mocking the hapless trainers. 

Peridot's mouth grew dry, her palms sweaty as she crept closer...Finally she took cover behind a boulder. 

She trained her binoculars on the middle of the camp, and saw a man in a goatee with a large L emblazoned on his outfit, directing the shooters. She ranged her binoculars down the line of hapless men, some young, think and awkward, others paunchy and middle-aged, wearing a lifetime of anger and frustration on their faces. 

Then she turned her binoculars at the targets again, just as they prepared to fire another volley.

She could make out several of the targets, which appeared to be gross caricatures of different figures. A portrait of Stalin's head. Beside him, Trotsky, with emphasis on his wild hair and Jewish nose. Next to him, a gross woman with a mangled face and bare breasts painted on the target. Peridot guessed it was supposed to be Eleanor Roosevelt. 

Beside the First Lady, a bald, cheerful looking face with a red X scrawled on it. Still enough to recognize him as Upton Sinclair. 

She turned her gaze to the next target, just in time to watch two bullets smash into it. It bore an aristocratic face, smug with a cigarette and glasses scrawled on it, and a rubber nose attached.

The President, naturally. 

Peridot felt more and more unnerved the more time she watched. The men fired hundreds, maybe thousands of rounds at the targets, and the fact that they seemed to miss with most of them didn't comfort her one bit. Those guns were designed to kill without regard for accuracy or skill.

And she saw the leader take a weapon from one of his henchmen, aim from the hip and calmly fire half a magazine into the Roosevelt figure, nearly breaking it in two. Then he aimed it more carefully at the face, and blasted the rubber nose off FDR's head.

At this, Peridot instinctively turned away and took a few deep breaths, sick with the implications of this. More shots were fired, but she didn't pay attention. An armed band of thugs taking target practice just outside Los Angeles? It seemed to confirm her worst fears. 

Preparing to leave, she trained her binoculars lazily towards the sky, past the smoke floating over the scene. She sighted the American flag waving overhead.

Through a break in the smoke, she spotted the Stars in the blue field replaced with a fasces. 

Numbly, she staggered back to her car, hoping to God no one had noticed her. 

* * *

 

"Yeah Perry, we know all about that camp," Maguire said. "The Silver Shirts own it fair and square. Pelley bought it about a year ago. They've got the right to use it for whatever they see fit, even if it seems a bit disgusting to you."

"Well, forgive me for finding a bunch of fascists firing machine guns at pictures of the President a bit unnerving." 

"Not saying they're good people, but...Come on, you can't arrest somebody for _that_. They're allowed to use whoever they want as a target."

"Somebody's already tried to kill the President..."

"That was six years ago, and he was a kook and a wop..."

"So I would take it a bit more seriously...A wop? Really?"

"Yeah, don't you remember? Zangara, weird little creep in Miami, funny in the head, always had a bellyache..."

"That's real comforting, but you know who _else_ is a wop? Mussolini. And that didn't stop him from taking over an entire country." 

"Country of wops."

"Fuck you, Mack. You aren't gonna do anything about this, maybe I should."

"I'd like to see you try."

"Keep your eyes peeled, then." And she slammed down the phone.

* * *

The whole reason for her calling, of course, hadn't come up. Not just the Silver Shirts shooting off Roosevelt's nose, although that was troubling enough. It was the fact that their camp was situated on property that now belonged to the Diamonds.  

She wondered if they knew. She shuddered to think that they did. And that they didn't care. Or worse...

Part of her wanted to wait until she could talk to Pearl. But she figured she couldn't wait. 

So she moved down the street to another phone booth and dropped in her last quarter. 

"Diamond Company," a harsh, nasal voice answered on the other line.

"Yes, my name is..." Shit, she was burning through her aliases on this name. Think of something new. 

"Pauline Pearson," she sputtered. "Listen, I have information about your property in the San Gabriel Valley that might be of interest."

"What information is that? Are you a detective?"

"Just a friend," she assured. 

"I highly doubt that, or I would know who you are."

The secretary's smugness radiated over the phone. So Peridot, naturally, responded in kind.

"Honey, just from the thirty seconds I've spent talking to you, I can tell what you don't know would fill the _Encyclopedia Britannica_."

"...How did you even get this number?"

"You're a publicly-traded company, ma'am. You're in the phone book. Now, as pleasant as this conversation has been..."

"Please don't call again."

"...There are Silver Shirts training on your property."

The line went silent 

"Come again?"

"You know, Silver Shirts. That bananas goofball Pelley and his _Seven Minutes in Eternity_. Well, I happened to be driving through the San Gabriel Valley today and found that he and some of his goons are using your property for a shooting range. Now, I've never run a business like yours, sweetheart, but I'm not sure that's the company I'd like to keep. Or like people to know that I kept..."

The voice on the other end didn't answer for the long time. Whether it was fear or disbelief or both, she couldn't tell. 

"Don't call again," the voice finally repeated. And hung up. 

Peridot cursed and slammed the receiver down. She felt a desperate itch on her nose, and struggled not to scratch it. Instead she burst out of the phone booth, passed an incredulous elderly man, and walked over to car, fuming. 

 _All this bullshit going on, and nobody will do anything,_ she raged within her head. _Nobody cares. And maybe some of them want it to happen._

She barely had time to register her thoughts before she detected a presence in the car. She turned around and saw Jasper sitting there, staring impassively. 

Peridot felt a stab of fear, but tried to stay cool.

"What's new?" she asked, feeling her hands start to tremble. She realized that she'd do anything for a cigarette...then remembered she'd stopped smoking until her nose was healed.

"Don't play dumb with me," Jasper rasped. "You've been asking questions. I know that's your job and all, but...You're asking the wrong people the wrong questions."

"That's a matter of perspective."

"Don't get too smart, either," Jasper said, kicking the back of Peridot's seat. "Woulda thought your nose gave you the message." 

"I'm a slow learner," Peridot said, hand drifting to her side, wondering if her .38 was in the glove compartment. 

"Well, maybe you oughta get that fixed."

Peridot opened her mouth to respond, then felt her face smashing full-force into her steering wheel. She struggled and felt Jasper's hand pressing her down.

"I could just as soon kill you," she warned. "Personally, I'd like that! But I know people who'd rather not have any more untimely deaths than necessary. Consider this your second and final lesson. Next time, you won't have enough brains left for a third one."

She held Peridot down for another moment, relishing her own strength and her rival's helplessness, then let go. Then calmly exited the car and melted into the crowd.

Peridot took a few deep breaths, then rubbed her hair, struggling to flatten it. Then she sat straight up, looked around for Jasper or anyone else, and gunned it down the street.

She clipped another car's bumper, leaving angry honking in her wake. But Peridot didn't care. 

Things were starting to add up. And Peridot didn't like what they showed. 

Not one bit. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sure that anyone who actually lives in LA or southern California can point out the glaring geographical and topographic liberties taken in this story! Apologies and I hope they're not egregious enough to take readers out of the story.
> 
> I've already provided an introduction to Pelley and the Silver Shirts in an earlier chapter's notes. For a detailed account of their activities and bizarre ideology, read this piece by Jon Elliston: https://tinyurl.com/y94e4k7h
> 
> That said, this description of the Silver Shirt training camp more closely describes an FBI report on the actions of Father Coughlin's Christian Front, particularly a New York cell called the Sporting Club implicated in a 1940 plot to assassinate Roosevelt and overthrow the government. With characteristic immodesty, I will direct interested parties to one of my recent columns on this subject: https://tinyurl.com/y9awamae


	11. Cranks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: graphic descriptions of violence, racism and implied sexual assault.

"Who was that, Saffron?" Azuria demanded.

"Crank call, I think." The secretary put down the phone with visible irritation. Just another moron spreading lies and rumors about her boss. What else was new? 

"Oh? What did they have to say?"

"Oh, just one of those lunatics with a grudge..." she said dismissively. "I took care of..." 

She turned and stopped when she saw her boss's face. Hard, implacable, demanding.

"...It." And Saffron's face sank, chasing the last word down with a gulp.

"What did they tell you?" Azuria repeated, her voice a quiet, even demand. 

"They said something about...men training on one of our properties."

"Where?"

"The...umm, San Gabriel Valley."

Pause. 

"Did they say who the men were?"

"She said...they were those Silver Shirts...you know, that weirdo Pelley..."

"How much did they see?"

Now Saffron went from unnerved to deeply frightened. The gulp in her gut expanded into a wave of nausea. 

"Just...armed men...training with weapons..."

"Hmm. And did they say who they were?"

"Ma'am?"

"I mean the caller."

Azuria drew frighteningly close. Saffron was petrified, not seeing a single flicker of emotion cross her employer's face. 

"Pauline..." She wracked her memory for more details, fearing for her career.

"I'm sorry, I can't remember the last name," she sputtered. "But it was a woman. She had a very deep, nasal voice...I mean, I would recognize her if I heard it again...That's for sure."

Saffron stood terrified watching Azuria scrutinize her face. The slight movements of Azuria's eyes scanned her, made her freeze up, terrified that she might she show even a _false_ hint of dishonesty. 

"Hmm. Well, please try to remember details like names in the future," Azuria scolded. "It could be important, _especially_ if it's a crank. You never know what cranks actually  know...do you?"

Saffron froze. This was a challenge, the kind Azuria enjoyed subjecting her to, to vouchsafe how trustworthy, how loyal, how **perfect** a secretary she really was.

Saffron's mouth went dry, terrified to provide single wrong answer. 

"Was she a reporter?" Azuria asked. 

"She didn't say."

"A detective?"

Pause. Saffron swallowed again.

"That...that's what I thought it might be," she admitted.

"What made you think _that_?"

The question came out a cold, quiet growl.

"Just...the way she talked. She was very challenging...wanting to know more..."

Azuria stared at her for another second, making every hair on Saffron's body stand up on end. 

"Well, if it was a detective, be very careful not to tell them anything," she said finally.

"Of-of course," Saffron stammered. 

"You know I trust you with company secrets." Another challenge in velvet.

"Y-yes, Miss Diamond."

"That's why you sit in on all our meetings."

"Of course, and I really appreciate the level of trust you place in me...I mean, it means the world to me that...with all the important...business that you take part in...that your company..."

Her eyes betrayed her worry, the dreadful thoughts, the sickening fears coursing through. The fear that every ugly thing that she'd heard about Azuria and River and their ghastly mother over the years, that she'd always dismissed out of hand, might be **true**. 

Azuria examined her secretary for another long, agonizing moment. Then, mercifully, she turned to leave. 

"Let me know if they call again," Azuria said. "Or anyone calls about it. We have enough problems right now without this kind of...what did you call it? These cranks bothering us. Last thing we need right now is adverse publicity."

Saffron just nodded, then watched as her boss left the room. 

She sank into her chair, horrified at the conversation she'd just had. She knew the Diamonds associated with some unsavory characters, some people she'd rather not think about too much...but this. This was **crazy**.

Obviously, someone just heard rumors and stories and amplified them into a mad story. Maybe to smear the Diamonds or to blackmail them. That's what invariably happened. 

It couldn't be true. _Could_ it?

Ordinarily, Saffron wouldn't even _think_ to ask that. 

But today...who knew? 

Her eyes scanned across the desk, looking for her _Ellery Queen_ novel for distraction.

Instead, they lighted upon a copy of the newspaper, which featured the headline:

**"JEWISH NEIGHBORHOODS FEAR TYPHOID OUTBREAK**

**"SIX MORE CHILDREN SICK, FIVE JEWISH**

**"COUNCILMAN BRONSTEIN DEMANDS INVESTIGATION"**

And Saffron, though she still wasn't sure _why_ , felt a violent kick to the pit of her stomach.

Then she glanced over at her list of appointments...and everything came crashing together.

* * *

Pearl went through her day in a blaze of excitement. The previous night's adrenaline still hadn't subsided. Even the most boring task seemed thrilling.

Especially when _Rose_ asked her to do it. 

"Pearl, dear, could you grab the report on the Vallejo account please?" 

"Yes, Miss Diamond."

Rose and Pearl stared at each other for a moment, then both broke out into giggles. They saw Blue walking past silently, take a moment to stare at them, then moved past without saying anything.

"Oh, Pearl, you can call me Rose if you want," Rose said, putting a hand on Pearl's shoulder. "I mean, now that we're... _close_." 

"I probably shouldn't," Pearl scolded, politely brushing away her boss's hand, though the touch of her skin made her tremble with delight. "We need to keep up formality while we're in the office, after all."

Pearl went over to her desk and rummaged around for the file. 

Rose made a pouty face, though she couldn't stop grinning. 

"I suppose you're right... _Miss White_ ," she said with teasing emphasis. "Wouldn't do for an employee and a secretary to be friends, would it?"

_Friends._

Well, that was...something. Enough for Pearl to blush as she handed her boss the file. 

She sat there the rest of the day, feeling like a lovesick teenager, kicking her legs back and forth under the table.

 _Get a grip on yourself,_ her brain demanded, biting her lip. _You're an adult, and you're here on serious business._

But how could she be serious? How could she think about this banal paper-shuffling when there were Nazis to punch (or to bean with her shoe, as the case might be)? And when Rose was _right there_?

She couldn't help staring at Rose, who sat at her desk reading a document with uncommon concentration. With a seriousness that Pearl rarely saw in her, even when she was beating up bigots. 

Then her eyes flickered away from the paper, and her vision briefly caught Pearl's. Pearl blushed and looked down, until she was sure that Rose had looked away.

Then she looked up - and saw Rose still looking at her. And gave Pearl a playful wink. 

She felt _alive_ in a way she never had before. Forget about last night - all she was thinking about that day was the next adventure they'd have together.

Something even bigger, more exciting. 

"I really enjoyed last night," Pearl blurted out, instantly regretting it.

Rose smiled and chuckled slightly. "So did I," she said, now engrossed in her work.

A long pause as Pearl stared, unsure how to proceed. "Is that...something that might happen again?"

"Mmmhmm," Pink muttered.

"Would you like me to come along?" Pearl ventured.

Rose finally looked at her. "Of course," she said. "It wouldn't be the same without you."

Pearl's heart fluttered. Then she thought of something and smiled:

"You know, my last picture..."

She caught herself and clamped her mouth shut.

No, that was ridiculous. Silly. Not worth mentioning. Especially not in _this_ context. 

"Never mind."

"What is it?" Rose asked, intrigued.

"Oh, just me being silly and nostalgic."

"Well, fine, but share!" Rose encouraged her. 

"Just a silly anecdote..." 

"Well, I could use some silliness right now."

Pearl looked in Rose's eyes and her heart melted, again. How could she say no?

"Well...my last picture, as you know...like I said before, it was going to be an action picture."

"Uh-huh."

"And one of my character's biggest skills was swordfighting..."

She blushed and looked down, thinking it would sound ridiculous. But Rose leaned forward and raised her eyebrows.

"Really?"

Pearl swallowed and smiled, despite herself. She continued, warming to her own story as she blathered on:

"So I underwent quite the extensive training! With the man who taught Errol Flynn how to handle a blade! How to move your feet and fight while moving around...It was exquisite! It was glorious! It was the most fun I've ever had..."

Her voice inevitably turned from a whisper into a boast. But she didn't care. It impressed Rose, and that was enough.

"So...is that a skill you'd like to revisit?" Rose teased. "Maybe put to some practical use." 

Pearl's smile faded. "Well, er, no, that would be ridiculous." 

"I don't see what's ridiculous about it," Rose chided her. "I mean, a sword compared to bats and tire irons? It's a much more elegant weapon, at the very least, and might come in handy in...certain situations."

Pearl nodded.

"Maybe someday, you can even teach _me_ how to use one," Rose said. 

Pearl's face screwed up into an awkward mixture of shock and happiness, not knowing if she was serious, or if she was good enough to teach Rose, or why they were even having this conversation...

She opened her mouth to say something more. But no words came out, just a strange, strangled sigh. 

Mortified, she dropped her head and shuffled around the papers on her desk, hoping to distract herself. 

* * *

 

"Excuse me, could I take a look at the most recent land purchases in the San Gabriel Valley?"

"You again? Sure. The plat maps aren't in just now, but I think I can get you a name or two. One second."

Peridot waited impatiently for him to return, tapping her pencil noisily on the desk. She looked around the library, seeing a middle-aged woman glowering at her beneath the most hideous mound of gray-brown hair Peridot had ever seen, and a younger, student-aged man in a dark blue suit. 

This day she went heeled, carrying a loaded .38 under her arm. She wasn't in the mood to get beaten up again if she could at all help it.  

After a few months, the reluctant clerk returned with a few sheefs of paper. 

"Yes, the most recent purchase - forty-eight acres of land in the Valley here, purchased just...wow, finalized within the past 24 hours."

"Does it say who the grantee was?"

"Well, the land belonged to a farmer named Bradshaw," the clerk read. "The purchase went to a man named...Lord Dashiell. Wow, imagine going through life with a name like that."

"It's certainly colorful," Peridot said, her mind instantly on guard for a hoax. Though she dutifully wrote it down on her notepad. 

"Could I take a look at that map you showed me last time I came in here?" she asked, not looking up. "The geologic one, I mean?" 

"If you think it would help," the clerk said, leading her over to a reference table. 

Peridot didn't bother sitting down. Instead she scanned the map, which she'd tried desperately to read, hoping to calculate the location of this Bradshaw's land. It wasn't particularly helpful, in and of itself, being more interested in soil composition and mineral deposits than names of property holders - how could that basic of information be sp hard to find, she thought, unless someone was hiding it? - but she knew the valley well enough that she could make some quick calculations.

She drew an X on a ridge outside Pasadena, where she'd encountered the Silver Shirts. Hoping that the clerk would be too distracted to notice. In fact, he had placed a sign reading **WENT TO RESTROOM** on his desk and vanished. 

Then, working from memory, she sketched the outlines of the parcel of land the Diamonds had purchased.

She tried remembering the Valley from her last trip. There'd been a small grove of trees off to the distance, she remembered. And knew there were orange and walnut plants in the Valley. 

And she made a note of that, wondering if this might be the land in question. And stared at her little doodles for a long moment. 

She heard the clerk's footsteps and hurriedly closed the book, not bothering to erase the pencil markings. 

* * *

 

Pearl gasped as she saw the now-familiar, crew-cut visage entering the office, trailing after a stiff, nervous-looking Saffron. 

Colonel De Vries.

Though middle-aged, his face was handsome in a clean shaven fatherly sort of way. But Pearl found his severe haircut, his emotionless expression, and most unnerving of all, his steely blue-gray eyes, too unnerving to account for. He was barrel-chested and well-built, possessing the physique of a much younger man. Even in civilian clothes, he had the inescapable swagger of a career military officer, looking for someone to fight. 

And she noted, again, how terrified Saffron was, practically trembling as she led him down the hall towards Azuria's office.

She saw him tip his hat towards Rose, who grimaced in response. When he'd moved past, she visibly recoiled from him, clenching her fists under the desk. 

"Ma'am, Colonel De Vries is here," Saffron announced.

"Good," the familiar voice intoned. "Send him in."

Saffron hesitated for a moment. "Shall I inform your sisters?"

"Yes. Let River know he's arrived."

Pearl looked over again at Rose, who rolled her eyes and gritted her teeth. 

"Very good, ma'am." Saffron bowed her head as the Colonel entered the room, then closed the door behind them. She stood there for a long moment, sighing, then walked down the hall, out towards her office. She acknowledged neither Pearl nor Rose as she walked.  

As Saffron opened the door, Pearl could hear loud sobbing. Saffron hurriedly closed the door behind her, muffling them before Pearl could draw a bead.

"That's who we're fighting next," Rose growled from across the room.

Pearl waited for her to elaborate. But Rose didn't, instead scribbling furiously on the papers sitting on her desk. 

And Pearl shuddered, sinking down into her seat. The thrill and excitement gone, so long as he was here. 

Because she knew she was in the presence of something Evil.  

* * *

 

 

Peridot had just reached her office when the telephone rang. Hurriedly, she bolted through the door, dropping her notepad on the floor and practically tripping over her desk to reach the receiver. Her stomach slammed into the desk, and she lost her breath.

"Hello?" she answered, struggling not to wheeze.

"Is this Peridot Mulwray?" a woman's voice, breathy and distant, came across the line.

"The same."

"I don't know why you're investigating this case," the voice continued, "but I'd advise you to drop it. It would be better for you...better for everyone." 

"Who **is** this?" Peridot growled. 

"Someone who's concerned. Maybe not a friend - I mean, we don't really know each other, but who doesn't want to see you or anyone else get hurt."

Peridot thought she recognized the voice, but couldn't place it. So she decided to keep her on the line.

"Honey, I can take care of myself," Peridot assured her. 

"Maybe against common thugs, but not against what you're stumbling into..."

"If you think making vague threats over the phone's enough to scare me, think again, sister," Peridot barked. "I live on that stuff. Gets my heart racing. Makes me wet downstairs. Makes me want to reach over the phone and sock you in the face."

"Such a tough cookie."

"I've been called worse."

The voice paused, then let out a heavy sigh. Finally, she continued:

"Look in last Friday's newspaper. It will tell you everything you need to know about Lord Dashiell. If that doesn't scare you off...Well, don't say I didn't warn you."

The phone disconnected. Peridot pushed herself back off her desk, then tripped backwards over her own feet. 

She muttered insults to herself as she reached for the notepad. Then she pulled out her pencil and saw that the lead point had broken.

_Well, **shit**. _

* * *

The Colonel left after about half-an-hour, without Saffron bothering to show him out. Instead he rushed through the office. Rose stared at him hatefully, then marched away from her desk. 

As he pushed through the outer door, Pearl heard a gasp. Even after the door closed she heard angry, challenging chatter, almost certainly from Saffron, on the other side. 

"Excuse me," Pearl said, bolting up from her desk. Rose looked surprised, but made no effort to stop her. 

Pearl nervously pushed the door open, and saw Saffron pressing up against the Colonel's chest, jabbing him with her finger. Her face was furious - not the weary, worldly irritation she usually displayed, but genuine, wrathful fury.

"...I don't give a goddamn if you're General Pershing or Abe Lincoln himself. You can't treat her that way. Not while I'm here."

Pearl looked over and saw Blue cowering in a corner, trying not to cry.

"That's a fine attitude for a skirt like you to take," the Colonel barked, in a harsh voice which grated on Pearl's ears. "You should be honored..."

"I'm not honored that you think my friend is some whore you can push around and grope like she belongs to you..."

"Watch your mouth or I'll break my fist over it."

"You touch me or my friend and I'll kick your testicles until they fall to pieces." 

"I'd like to see you try, honey."

"See, hell! I'll claw out your eyes first." 

The two stared hatefully at each other, until Saffron noticed Pearl. The two exchanged glances, then Saffron pushed away from the Colonel, who affected not to notice Pearl. Instead, he regarded his hat.

"You know," he said, seemingly to no one in particular, "my father served in the Philippines. He was there with Admiral Dewey and General Smith and probably killed more goo-goos than anyone else in the country. How many villages he burned down, how many slopeheads his troops machine gunned. Why, he told me a story once about how his platoon went into a small town and found a woman in a hut with two kids. She shielded them, held up some kinda stick...I swear to God, a stick...and was screaming in goo-goo talk to try and get my father to go away.

"And you know what?" he said, his voice devilishly affectless. "He laughed. It was the funniest damn thing he ever saw. He and his staff all stood there, laughing at this silly little slope trying to act all big and scary. Until he drew his saber, took a step forward and cut her head off with one stroke. Then shot both of the kids, too, and burned their hut. No loose ends, you see."

Pearl looked over and saw Blue tremble and shrink into the floor. Saffron, on the other hand, continued to boil with fury that she didn't bother hiding. 

"And I see your friend," the Colonel continued, "and I think back to that story. How my father's generation fought and died to keep people like _her_ in their rightful place...Civilize 'em with a Krag, they said. And now I come here and see a slope and get a little lip when I..."

And Saffron stepped forward and slapped the Colonel across the face, leaving a small bruise from the ring on her hand. Pearl saw the Colonel's face light up with homicidal fury, and cringed. But he did nothing, except put his hat on his head and walked out of the building. 

Saffron's eyes followed him hatefully. When he was out of site, she rushed over to Blue, who was crying and trembling, and gave her a firm, crushing hug, muttering words of comfort in her ears.

"Blue...what happened?" Pearl ventured. 

"He...he...he..." Blue sputtered, unable to get the words out. And Saffron, not acknowledging Pearl, just pushed her friend's head into her chest and kissed her on the forehead. 

"I'm so sorry," Saffron said. "So, so sorry." 

And Pearl looked down and saw Blue brush a strand of hair from her head. And somehow, until that moment, she realized that she'd never seen Blue's entire face. 

It only took one glance for Pearl to realize why the Colonel had taken to ranting about slopeheads and goo-goos. 

And she felt another punch to her stomach. An urge to leap over the desk, catch up with the Colonel and beat the shit out of him. 

Then she remembered Rose's words, and clenched and unclenched her fists. 

 _All in good time,_ she tried assuring herself, though she seethed with anger and sympathy. 

"What is all the commotion out here?" Azuria said, suddenly pushing past Pearl and regarding the two secretaries comforting each other.

"The Colonel..." Blue sputtered. "He...he..." But Saffron shushed her before she could get the words out. 

"He was behaving like less than a gentleman," Saffron muttered tactfully, not taking her eyes off her friend. Not willing to risk her boss's wrath by confronting her directly. 

"Well, you're still in the office," Azuria said. "Straighten yourselves up and get back to work." 

Saffron's face flashed a million different emotions as she stood up, helping Blue to her feet and gently pushing her away. Blue sniffled and wiped some tears away from her eyes. 

"Saffron, River, Rose and I will be meeting with one of our development heads in about half-an-hour," Azuria said. "Please get the appropriate paperwork ready."

"Yes, ma'am," Saffron said, utterly cowed. The sight of her so defeated and helpless made Pearl furious. 

"I don't know why you're so worked up," Azuria hissed, looking at Blue. Blue looked to her, hopeful for words of encouragement and not the reptilian grimace she received.

"Think of it as an honor," Azuria insisted. "After all, it's not every day you get grabbed by the future President of the United States." 

Pearl's mouth dropped open as Azuria walked past her, pretending she wasn't even there. 

She was enveloped in rage and disbelief that she didn't even notice Rose until she whispered a harsh reminder in Pearl's ear:

"Make sure your blades are sharp." 


	12. Working Lunch

"Well, shit."

Peridot practically spat her coffee all over the newspaper. It didn't take more than a little digging to find what she'd been looking for:

**BUSINESSMAN DASHIELL PASSES AWAY**

**Lord Montagu Dashiell, 85, of Pasadena, passed away yesterday at the Nicholson Old Age Home in Torrance, CA. Mr. Dashiell, a former landowner and businessman in Southern California more many years, had suffered from dementia and spent the last six years in medical care...**

And instantly, Peridot's suspicions were confirmed. Some kind of shell game. The Diamonds were buying up property using false names and dead people to avoid attention and land use restrictions.

She sat there for a moment, tapping a pencil against her desk, pondering what to do next.

One thing to unearth a bombshell like that - but what to _do_ with it?

As if in answer, her telephone rang.

"Peridot Mulwray," she answered, scratching around the bandage on her nose. 

"Peridot. It's Pearl. Listen, I'm sorry to bother you at your office, but...Some things are starting to add up. Rather alarming things."

"You're telling me. Just found out we have a friend we didn't even know about...I'm about to head out for lunch. Wanna join me?"

"A bit of a drive for me."

"All right. Can I meet you somewhere tonight?"

"Sure thing. Maybe the diner on Sepulveda at 7 pm?"

"So long as you're buying, Movie Star."

"It's a diner, not a high class restaurant. And it's not like I just signed a new contract..."

"You're not so hard-up you can't buy me a turkey sandwich." 

"Listen, I don't have time to banter right now. See you later." 

Peridot clipped out the obituary, stuffed into her coat pocket, and got up to leave. She felt her stomach growl as she headed for the door.

Eat first, save the world later.

* * *

Pearl ate lunch at the office, sitting on end of the table from Blue and Saffron. Instead of the usual chatter and gossip, lunch was deadly silent. The three women didn't make eye contact, instead nibbling silently at their respective food. The Colonel's shadow loomed over everyone, the room palpably stained by his actions. 

Pearl still struggled to contain her anger at what had happened earlier...and more particularly, at Azuria's flippant, insulting response. It took all of her energy not to storm out of the office, to let her rage completely consume her. But her mind tamped down those feelings, and she began assessing her coworkers. Rationally trying to consider if what she'd witnessed would make a difference. Could provide her with new allies. 

Which hurt her. She still wasn't comfortable with seeing people as tools, as pawns. Especially people she'd just seen victimized in the worst imaginable way. 

Blue was always silent. But her silence was that of someone shy and socially awkward, with an undercurrent of happiness beneath. Usually with a coy little smile beneath her black bangs. Today she was sullen, expressionless, as if the Colonel had drained the life out of her. As if ashamed of her very existence. She barely ate anything, instead staring down at floor, wishing she weren't there.

Saffron's silence was more surprising; she usually provided a stream of judgment and insults. Between each bite of sandwich her face registered warring emotions; anger, sadness, stress, perhaps guilt. Her eyes, usually mean and challenging, seemed searching and clueless. She stared past Blue, trying to make sense of what had happened, unable to find words to comfort her friend. 

And Pearl just sat there watching them, trying to make as cool an assessment as the situation allowed. 

"It's not right," Saffron said quietly. 

"Excuse me?" Pearl asked. 

"It's not right," Saffron repeated, her voice practically a hiss. "He can't...shouldn't get away with that." Her face twisted into an inscrutable expression. 

"Blue's never hurt anyone in her life," she continued. "And for him to treat her like that...to call her those names..."

She leaned forward, trembling and smashing a fist down on the table. And Blue reached over and clutched her hand until she calmed down a little.

"I'm sorry I couldn't do anything," Saffron said, before leaning down and kissing the back of Blue's hand. 

"What could you do?" Blue asked, her voice barely audible. "What can _any_ of us do? No one's gonna stick for me. Or any of us. No one's gonna care if a man like that treats us like that. It's just...how things are."

"They **shouldn't** be," Pearl offered, quiet but firm.

Saffron didn't say anything, focusing her attention on Blue. But Blue turned her head towards Pearl, smiling with a grin that broke her heart. 

"Well...if he comes around here again..." Saffron began, then bit down on her lip. Because she knew that any threat she made would be empty and hollow. Because they all knew Colonel De Vries could do and say whatever he wanted. 

"...I'll run a saber through his stomach and spill his guts all over the floor."

Saffron's face visibly dropped as she registered Pearl's words, unsure whether she was serious. Pearl inclined her head and let off a proud smirk. It made Blue giggle. 

"It's not his guts I want to spill all over the floor," Blue said, suddenly regaining a little bit of her usual chirpiness. Pearl smiled. 

"I'll cut off whatever you like, my dear," Pearl said, warming to her hero act. She stood and posed, inclining her fork towards the ground like a sword. 

"I'd like to see you do that," Saffron admitted. "Man, that would be beautiful. One less sack of shit in this awful world." She sighed and rolled her eyes towards the ceiling.

"God, it would be worth it just to see what **they** would think about it."

"They'd probably make us mop up the guts," Pearl said, "and send us home to think about what we did."

Blue giggled again, but Saffron remained deadly serious. 

"No, they would get one of their pals to..."

And she cut herself off again. Clenched her jaw and turned away from Pearl.

Pearl leaned in, unsure how much she wanted to push. But she figured there'd be no harm in trying, now. 

"To do what?" she asked. 

Saffron wrung her hands for a long moment. Blue withdrew again, looking down at her feet. The room, again, became deathly quiet. 

"Pearl...it doesn't take a genius to figure out what goes on here isn't always above board," Saffron said finally. "I mean, you hear things and sometimes you even see things...And you try to convince yourself that it's all just part of running a business. That everybody does it. That it's no big deal. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to concern yourself with. 

"But then, you see or hear something that...you shouldn't. And you wonder...And you think maybe it's not okay. Maybe it's something you shouldn't let happen."

She froze up again, sighing deeply, turning away from Pearl. Blue clutched her hand again, silently imploring her to go on. 

"...Let's just say," Saffron finally continued, looking at the ceiling, "Colonel De Vries isn't the worst person we've had visit here."

The silence hit the room like a bomb. And it took what seemed like minutes for it to subside. 

"Well..." Pearl finally ventured. "That...doesn't surprise me."

She felt this close to spilling the beans on her whole mission, perhaps even telling them about Rose's after-hours exploits. Something about Saffron's sad, guilty countenance made her want to tell the truth, just to salve her feelings, to assuage her guilt. But she managed to hold herself in check, and to speak in generalities. 

"I mean...I see some of the reports that go across Rose's desk," Pearl said. "And a business empire this big...I mean, it's just common sense..."

"You need to be tough," Saffron interjected. "Especially if you're a woman. You don't run a multi-million dollar industry by being **nice**."

"You've got _that_ right!" Pearl agreed. 

"Well, you would have some perspective on that, Hollywood Girl," Saffron teased, interjecting a little levity. And her trademark smirk spread across her face. 

"That still doesn't mean letting someone treat your employees like common whores is right," Pearl insisted. "Trust me...whenever some producer or studio big shot got fresh with me...Let's just say they didn't always get their hands back."

Saffron let out a harsh nasal chuckle, while Blue let out a high, chirping laugh, much louder than her usual giggle. And Pearl blushed and smiled. 

"Well, what can you do?" Saffron shrugged. "It is what it is."

Pearl felt a little disappointed that making things feel comfortable just allowed everyone to dismiss what had just happened, like it was a nasty phone call from a client or an annoying waiter. 

"Well, it shouldn't be," she insisted. 

"But what can you _do_?" Saffron repeated, not looking at Pearl or Blue and instead grabbing her food again. 

Pearl looked over at Blue. Her smile remained on her face, but it no longer seemed cheerful. It seemed resigned. Sad. 

And it broke Pearl's heart. 

"So Blue," she ventured. "I didn't know you were from the Philippines."

"Oh." Blue seemed surprised. She looked to Saffron for guidance, but Saffron focused on her food.

"Well, I'm not from there exactly..." She sighed and explained. "My mom is, I suppose, but she married an American sailor and moved to this country before I was born. I don't speak Tagalog or Spanish or any language other than English...I mean, I feel like I'm as American as anyone else..."

"You don't need to apologize!" Pearl replied. "There's nothing wrong with it. You can't help who you're born to, and there's nothing wrong with having an Asian parent. I just wondered..."

"Well, not everyone appreciates that," Blue admitted, brushing her bangs back just enough for Pearl to see a flash of her eyes. They had an Asian shape, but were an unnerving bright blue.

"As you can see...It's something I try to hide when I can," she admitted. "Just to avoid any problems, you know...People aren't always well-disposed towards Oriental girls...Especially in professional settings like this. Especially when, you know..."

Pearl felt a stab of familiarity in her chest. Wondered, again, how much she could confide in her new friends. 

"I understand," she finally said, taking a sip of water. 

* * *

After lunch finished, Pearl returned to her desk. She'd just started sorting through a fresh pile of papers when Rose bounded into the room, quivering with energy, face set with determination.

"Pearl, I need you to run an errand for me right now," she ordered. Before Pearl could react, she passed her a handwritten note:

**"PEARL - GO TO 175TH MARKET - MEET AMETHYST."**

Pearl nodded, grabbed the note and stood up to leave. 

"And where are you going?" 

Pearl froze as she heard Azuria's voice. She turned the note over in her hand. 

"What do you have there?" Azuria demanded. 

"Just a list," Rose said quietly. "Don't get all worked up."

"Oh, you're sending her out. I'm sorry, Rose. I just thought..." And Azuria didn't bother to explain further. Feeling a little embarrassed, she stepped out of the room and back into her own office.

"You'd better leave," Rose said, settling into her chair and not looking at Pearl. "And make sure you come back as quick as you can." 

* * *

 

Pearl found Amethyst standing near a fishmonger's stand, leafing absently through a yellowed paperback. Pearl powered through the seafood stink and addressed her.

"Hey, Movie Star!" Amethyst said, smiling broadly. "Great seeing you again! Guess Rose sent you, huh?"

"She did, but she didn't really tell me...She didn't give me anything to give to you."

"Figured." Amethyst closed the book, contemplated it for a second, then threw it in a garbage can. 

"Let's get out of here," Amethyst insisted. "The smell of oysters makes me puke."

"The stench is a little strong," Pearl agreed. She caught a glimpse at the angry fishmonger, who muttered something under his breath.

"There's a good deli place here," Amethyst explained, "and sometimes when I feel like cooking I buy vegetables from some farmer from the Simi Valley who comes here on Friday."

The two walked among the stalls, brushing through a sparse late afternoon crowd. 

"So, Rose didn't give you any message?" Amethyst said.

"No," Pearl admitted, feeling a little embarrassed. 

"Well, then you're probably here to find out something from me," Amethyst guessed. She turned her head nervously as a dog barked down the street, hand instinctively reaching into her pocket. Pearl winced and saw her hand wrapped around the handle of a club, which she pushed back into her coat. 

"Couldn't you find something more discreet?" Pearl asked incredulously.

"I don't really **do** discreet," Amethyst scoffed.

"Maybe you should give it a try."

"Says the movie star."

"I'm not a movie star any more."

"Coulda fooled me." 

"A lot of chatter from L.A. up to here," she continued. "Some private dick is going around asking the wrong people the wrong questions. What else is new?" 

Pearl smiled, having a decent idea who Amethyst might mean. 

"More important, there's a few new faces in town that raise my hackles."

"Anyone you know?" 

"By reputation," Amethyst said. "Both contract killers. Serious stuff."

Pearl froze, thinking about her run-in with Jasper the other day.

"One of them a woman?" she asked as nonchalantly as circumstances allowed.

"Yeah," Amethyst said, a little surprised. "A broad associated with Murder Inc. They call her Jasper. You know her?"

"I've heard the name," Pearl responded vaguely.

"Guess I shouldn't be surprised," Amethyst smiled. "I'm sure there's a lot of less-than-savory shit going on in Hollywood."

"Trust me, you would be surprised," Pearl said. "And the other one?"

"The other? Oh yeah, a guy named McCaffrey. Don't know much about him, but I asked around the usual places...He's the kinda guy who smiles and tells you everything's okay then waits for you to turn around plugs you in the back of the head."

Pearl shuddered. "Well, you don't have to be so vivid."

"Helps to know what we're up against," Amethyst replied. "I mean, you can't be that squeamish coming from Hollywood. Or if you're hanging out with Rose."

Pearl allowed herself a smile. "I guess not."

"She's a character, huh?" Amethyst said. "Of course, you have to deal with Professional Rose. I'm sure she's a hoot."

"She's a completely different person," Pearl said.

"Yeah? Is she all stiff and formal and businesslike?"

"No, she's mostly...sad."

Amethyst said nothing for a minute, staring ahead thoughtfully.

"Doesn't surprise me. I mean, you think a rich girl like her gets mixed up with people like me unless she has something wrong?"

"People like you?" Pearl seemed surprised at her choice of words.

"Yeah, I'm street trash," Amethyst said. Pearl blanched at her comment, causing Amethyst to smile.

"Hey, at least I admit it," she said. "But don't you go calling me that or I'll flatten you."

"I'm sure that I would never call anyone street trash," Pearl insisted. 

"Very egalitarian of you," Amethyst teased. "But anyway...yeah, tell Rose to keep an eye out for these guys. If somebody's bringing in heavy hitters like this, they want somebody to be quiet."

"I'll keep that in mind," Pearl said. Then she asked: "Colonel De Vries visited us today."

And Amethyst's face dropped.

"Well, shit. That's never good news."

"You know him?"

"Everybody knows him," Amethyst insisted. "Guy's a fucking creep who thinks he's the next Mussolini. Maybe he will be if we don't stop him."

"He's certainly a creep," Pearl agreed, not saying more. 

"Rose tells me that he spends a lot of time with her sisters. I mean, that doesn't shock me too much...You know, corporate big shots associating with slime like that. It's like another day at the office, I'll bet."

"I get that impression," Pearl admitted.

"Yeah." Beat. "So why do you feel like getting mixed up with us anyway? I mean, rich girls like Rose, I can sorta understand why she'd join of us she wasn't happy about something her family did. But you? You're a big movie star and not only are you taking such a crummy job...you're helping **us**. I mean, that's crazy and I don't understand it. Do you really like Rose that much?"

"Do I really-?" Pearl was surprised, and felt her face flush. She couldn't force herself to eek out a denial. 

Amethyst laughed. "Thought so. That's totally fine, she's a beautiful woman. And God knows I'm not one to judge about...those kinda things. It's pretty awful that you got in trouble for that, you know."

Pearl didn't know what to say, but she also didn't want to discuss it. 

"But, I mean, even if...I mean, this is some serious stuff. You can't be doing it just to impress Rose. Isn't this all a big risk for you?"

"It's a bigger risk to me than you know," Pearl responded. 

"So mysterious," Amethyst mocked. 

"That's one thing they teach us _very_ well in Hollywood," Pearl smiled.

"I'll bet." Another pause. "Well, pass along what I told you, okay?"

"Sure thing. Oh, and Amethyst?"

"Yeah?"

Pearl hesitated, not wanting to seem too eager, then jumped in.

"Will we...are we going to have another mission together? I, um, really hope we do."

Now it was Amethyst's turn to be mysterious.

"Patience, Movie Star," she said with a grin. "Ask your girlfriend."

Pearl practically fainted hearing _that word_ applied to Rose. Before she could sputter a response, Amethyst had vanished into the crowd. 

* * *

 

Peridot spent most of the day in her office, making phone calls and trying to add up the bits and pieces she'd strung together so far. What she could see of the picture was frightening, but the whole still eluded her.

Maybe talking with Pearl would add some helpful details, she thought. 

 

Someone knocked on her door as she sat, deep in thought, reviewing her latest batch of notes. She ignored it, not in the mood to see another client right now.

The knocking was loud, insistent. Finally, grumbling, Peridot pushed herself from her desk and moved across the room, feeling the weight of a pastrami on rye in her gut.

She opened up the door, preparing to shout a choice insult. Then her mouth opened in a gasp as she stared into the face of Lapis Lazuli. 

"Hey," Lapis said with a wry, mischievious smile.

Peridot, breathless, practically choked on her tongue, struggling to form words at the gorgeous vision before her. Finally, she managed to choke out two of them:

"Well, **shit**." 

 

 


	13. Sparring

Pearl tried to keep her appointment with Peridot in the back of her mind. She needed to work, though it wasn't easy.

As she stared at reports and business files, poring them over for bits of information she might find useful, she struggled to fight down the anger at Colonel DeVries and her employers. Though, after what she'd just witnessed, she couldn't help imagining herself impaling him and the Diamonds with one of her sabers.

Except, of course, the Diamond who sat across from her, closing a book and sighing.

"You spend all day looking at numbers and it really gets to you."

Pearl just nodded, feeling the lines of text weighing down her eyelids. The monotony of a work day slowly grinding down her will to carry out her mission. 

"I'm sure this isn't the life you imagined when you left the movie business," Rose said with a smile. 

Pearl smiled back. "Not exactly," she admitted. 

"But," she added truthfully, "I wouldn't be anywhere else."

"Yeah?" Rose cast her a glance freighted with hidden meaning. Pearl felt like Rose was studying her and shrunk back. 

"Well, I'm glad you're here too," Rose said finally, before standing up and walking across the room. She lingered over Pearl for a moment, staring past her. 

"You know, it's just good to have someone who I can...I can _talk to_. I mean, about  all of this."

"Oh?" Pearl asked, half-polite and half-sincere. "I thought you had...A partner?"

She weighed her words carefully, signalling that she might be open to...something more than talk. 

"Greg is _wonderful_ , but I can't really tell him about...Anything I do here. And he only has the barest idea of what I do with Amethyst and the others. Frankly, I'm not sure he _wants_ to know."

"Then why have him?" Pearl asked.

Rose recognized the double entendre a moment before Pearl, and burst out laughing and slapped her on the shoulder. 

"Well, if you knew Greg the way **I** knew him, you wouldn't ask..." 

She stopped herself, noting Pearl's discomfort. Instead, she smirked and pulled away. 

"No, what I mean is...I try to keep both halves of my life pretty separate if I can. As you could imagine...But with you, I guess...You have a foot in both of them now."

And Pearl practically melted right there. 

"I just hope it wasn't a mistake," Rose worried. 

"Of course it wasn't," Pearl assured her. How could she think _that_?

"Well, you've seen what I get up to," Rose said. "I'm sorry I got you involved. With everything that's happened, I wouldn't want you to get in any more trouble."

Pearl shook her head. Her voice broke before she could sputter out the next sentence:

"I...I wouldn't have it any other way."

Rose smiled beatifically.  

"Come on Pearl, it's been an _agonizing_ day," she said, her voice taking on a playful air. "Between the workload and my sisters and that _awful_...We need to do something fun tonight. Something that will keep us sharp." 

Pearl suddenly perked up. "Do you mean...another night with Amethyst and...?"

The adrenaline started coursing through her veins, right there. She was so excited that she started visibly shaking.

Rose laughed again. "Goodness **no** , we need a break! Something tells me we'll be doing that soon enough...But not tonight."

"Well, um, what did you have in mind?" Pearl asked, a little confused. 

* * *

It was the biggest gym Pearl had ever seen. Practically an indoor _stadium_ , in fact. It was wide as a football field with a track around the edges, with ceilings at least twenty feet overhead. 

Yet inside, there were only two people. Her and Rose, struggling into fencing outfits Rose apparently had on hand. Their every word, every move, practically every breath echoed in the cavernous building. 

How could Rose _afford_ a place like this? How could she manage to get it all to herself? 

Then Pearl remembered she was a Diamond, and that Rose probably never asked such questions.

"What's wrong, Pearl?" Rose asked, tying her hair back behind her neck in a ponytail.  

"I'm accustomed to smaller practice areas, is all," Pearl stuttered, slipping her trembling right arm through a sleeve. 

"You can't be _that_ nervous, silly," Rose chided.

"Well, I am rather out of practice," Pearl admitted. Her outfit felt uncomfortable, and she fidgeted with it unconsciously, watching Rose grab a rapier off the stand.

"Like I'd know," Rose said, pointing the sword suggestively at Pearl. "Can you _believe_ I've never handled one of these things in my life?" 

Pearl looked at Rose's form and admitted to herself that no, she couldn't believe it.

But she didn't say it out loud. Instead, she cleared her throat and grabbed the second rapier, examining it anxiously.

"Shall we begin?" Pearl asked.  

"It's your call," Rose assured her, smirking. "I mean, **you're** the expert swords woman here."

Pearl laughed. "Well, I don't know about that..."

"Oh nonsense," Rose said. "How many movies did you get to cross blades with the bad guys?" 

"One film that was never made," Pearl reminded her. 

"All the same," Rose said. "It's a skill that will come in handy."

"I hope so," Pearl said. Then she looked up long enough to see Rose staring at her mischievously. 

It took Pearl a moment to register what she was staring at.

Then she looked down and saw, to her mortification, that she'd slipped her right arm into her left sleeve. That her outfit was on backwards.

A horrified squeak escaped her throat. Despite her efforts to muffle it, the strangled yelp echoed off the gym's high walls, causing titters of laughter in Rose. 

 _Nice going, Pearl_ , she thought, feeling her face flush bright red. She kept her hands clenched over her mouth for a long moment. 

"I hope you're better with a sword than that outfit," Rose teased, aimlessly twirling the rapier in her hands.

Pearl's embarrassment faded, but the blush didn't. She turned away from Rose, trying to regain her mental balance, to get into the right head space for fencing.

Yet her fingers kept twitching and knotting together, even as she held the sword's grip in her hand. She felt a rapturous smile spreading over her own face. A joy so immense that she lost herself in their silly game. 

"If you're lucky, you'll soon find out," she said beguilingly. 

* * *

It took a few minutes for Pearl to find her footing. Her steps were awkward and unsure, if not exactly clumsy. Rose watched in amusement, refusing to move unless Pearl instructed her. 

"Keep your stance wide," Pearl advised Rose. "Body lowered towards the ground. That way it's easier for you to balance as you move."

"That's easy for you to say," Rose riposted. "You're so tall...and graceful."

"Buttering me up won't win the match," Pearl told her. She moved her rapier forward and clacked the blade against Rose's. "Now, just follow me and we'll get the hang of this soon enough."

Pearl broke off the sword and circled around Rose. Then she moved her blade forward until Rose awkwardly smacked at it, knocking her rapier away. Pearl's face appeared mortified.

"Looks like I win," Rose said, moving forward and touching her with the point. "Touche."

Pearl blushed and bent down to collect her sword. 

"That's just practice," she insisted, closing her eyes and sticking out her chest. "If this were a real match, I'd show you some moves that you couldn't _dream_ of."

Pearl seemed a little surprised by her own forcefulness. But then, she never needed much provocation to be competitive. Even with someone as gorgeous as Rose.  

" **Well** ," Rose teased. "Isn't someone full of herself."

"No, I just have a realistic appraisal of our relative skill." 

"Don't go easy on _me_ ," Rose insisted. "I'm your boss, after all."

"Is that an order?" Pearl clarified. She suddenly wondered what might happen if she accidentally impaled her boss. 

Then she remembered they had fencing rapiers, not real swords. And relaxed a little bit.

"Consider it an _instruction_." Rose stepped backward and presented her sword with a flourish. "Show me what you've got." 

"You sure?" Pearl said, arching an eyebrow. She felt a little nervous, a little cocky, and wasn't sure which trait would take over.

"Sure. Pretend I'm Basil Rathbone or somebody."

Rose's crinkled her face into a hostile glare, or as hostile as her face could manage. 

Pearl smirked and went forward into a stance. "Very well, then. You've been warned."

And she rushed forward, smashing Rose's blade with her sword at lightning speed. Rose's eyes went wide with amazement, struggling to keep her balance as Pearl whirled around her. 

Pearl felt a flush of excitement and pride at her work. She couldn't help it. Why possess a skill if you don't get to show it off?

Besides, she had a taste for fighting now. It made her heart pump while clarifying her mind towards a single, clear goal. It gave her energy and, more importantly, _purpose_.

She imagined herself pinioning a stadium's worth of fascists on her blade. Dispatching Mussolini with a cut to the throat. Impaling Hitler through his black heart. Slashing Generalissimo Franco's guts all over the floor. And, of course, emasculating Colonel De Vries and cleaning the gym with his entrails, then severing his head and presenting it to Blue as a present. 

Yet, to her frustration, she failed to land a hit. Because Rose, however inexperienced she was, moved fast. Whatever fighting she'd done with Amethyst and friends had honed her reflexes, and she moved quickly enough to dodge, or else block all of Pearl's thrusts and slashes. 

"Is that all you've got?" Rose challenged, smirking smugly. 

Anger washed over Pearl as she caught her breath. She took the challenge seriously.

"I have not yet begun to fight," she declared melodramatically. She collected herself, sized up Rose, who moved into a silly-looking defensive posture, crouched down towards the floor.

Pearl lunged forward with a cry, then slashed twice at Rose, who blocked them both, then parried, narrowly missing Pearl's head. Pearl leaped out of the way and struck Rose on the back of her shoulder. 

"Touche," she called out. "Point, Pearl."

Rose turned and lunged at Pearl, narrowly missing her stomach. Pearl, coming into her own now, moved fast and furious around Rose, dodging her every move and blocking the few that came anywhere near her. 

"Is that all **you've** got?" Pearl said, throwing Rose's challenge back. "For a millionaire you sure aren't light on your feet."

"Oh, I'll show you light on my feet," Rose said. Before Pearl could react, she barreled forward and slammed into Pearl's body, knocking her to the ground. 

Pearl landed on her back with a loud "Oof!" 

"Point, Rose," Rose said, standing over Pearl with her sword at her side.

"That was a cheap shot," Pearl complained. 

"Not a pretty win," Rose admitted, "but I'll take it."

Pearl slowly raised herself up, feeling pain racing down her back. She buckled over, leaning against her hip.

"Hey, are you all right?" Rose asked, suddenly concerned. Her cockiness vanished in an instant. "I didn't mean to..."

"It will be fine," Pearl insisted, pushing her away. "You can't beat me that easily." 

And she swiped at Rose, who ducked out of the way with a surprised yelp.

And the two locked swords and danced around the gym, Pearl's professionalism against Rose's...whatever you call it. Pluck? Gumption? Stubbornness? It wasn't exactly professional, or trained. But it was enough to keep pace with Pearl.

"You are one tough cookie," Rose said, starting to pant with exhaustion after another round of sparring. "What ever made you become a secretary?"

"Needed a change of pace," Pearl replied. 

"Your life must have been a thrill a minute," Rose enthused, wiping a loose strand of hair from her forehead. 

"On good days," Pearl said, swallowing a breathless wheeze. 

Pearl's response seemed to energize Rose, who straightened herself up for another round. 

"Yeah? Well, how about _nights_?"

Startled for just a moment, Pearl had just enough time to move into position and block the incoming blow.

After another few moments of close-range sparring, Pearl leaned back and felt another twinge of pain in her back. She forced herself to choke it down, trying to hide her agony from Rose. 

"This isn't how they do it in the movies," Pearl admitted, trying to distract herself from the agony. 

"Well, you won't often have sword fights in real life," Rose reminded her. "These are guys with guns and knives and brickbats and those damned - they invented this special club for fighting Jews. You know, the bastards we'll be fighting. They call them kike killers."

Rose practically spat out the racial slur, then noticed Pearl seem to shrink away at the insult. And something registered with her immediately. 

She looked at her apologetically, unsure what to say, how she might make amends. 

"I've heard worse," Pearl assured her. Then a smile.

Rose smiled, too. And lowered her sword to her side. 

Pearl's smile grew wider. Because Rose had left herself open. 

She rushed across the room and tackled Rose, spilling her to the ground.

"Hey!" Rose called, losing her grip on her sword. 

"Rule number one of swordfighting: always expect the unexpected."

And Pearl pinned Rose to the ground, not letting her go, enjoying the moment of dominance. 

Rose struggled for a few seconds, trying to squirm out from under Pearl, trying at least to breathe with her secretary implanted on her chest...

But then she burst out laughing. A big, rumbling belly laugh.

Pearl couldn't help joining in. And the two lay on top of each other for a long moment, laughing at each other. 

Eventually the laughter faded, and the two smiled dumbly at each other without speaking. Pearl felt herself transported.

She was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen...even more than her last girlfriend. 

She stared into Rose's hazel eyes, looked at the sweaty, matted locks of hair along her temples and foreheads. And her beautiful, welcoming expression.

And she couldn't help it. She couldn't resist.

She leaned forward, grabbed Rose, closed her eyes, and kissed her as hard as she could. 

She clenched her eyes shut, enjoying the sensation and the rush of excitement. A feeling of freedom, of enjoyment she hadn't known for a long, long time. 

But too afraid at Rose's reaction.

Slowly, she pulled away, breathing heavily, pushing herself away from Rose gently, but keeping her hands on her shoulders.

It took Pearl a long, endless minute to open her eyes. 

And she saw Rose, staring at her. Eyes wide open, amazed, transported. 

"Rose, I'm..." Pearl began. She felt her throat go dry, a gulped heavily. "I didn't mean..."

She turned away and started lifting herself up. Until she felt a hand on her shoulder. 

"Pearl..."

Pearl turned her head, ever so slightly, and found Rose leaning in for another kiss. 

It was beautiful and amazing. The happiest Pearl had ever been. As they hugged and kissed and went to town.

It was perfect. 

Until Pearl opened her eyes. And realized they weren't alone. 

She broke away from Rose and saw a tall, pale looking woman standing a few feet away, her hands folded in front of her. 

She looked like death, wearing a black blouse and skirt, with pale skin and platinum blonde hair cut short, a small pearl necklace around her neck. But Pearl couldn't help noticing her face. Not the eerie, knowing smile on it - that was unnerving enough. But what appeared to be a huge blemish, perhaps a scar, over her left eye. 

"Miss Rose," she said in a loud, emotionless voice.

"Umm...yes, Blanche," Rose said, slowly sitting up as Pearl stood up and straightened up her clothes, ashamed.

"Miss Diamond wants you to join her and your sisters for dinner tonight."

"How did you know I was here?" Rose asked, trying to regain her haughtiness.

"I was asked to find you," Blanche said without changing expression. 

"Well, tell them to sit and spin," Rose spat. "I'm having fun..."

"Your sisters feel you're having a little too much fun lately," Blanche replied. Rose cast a guilty glance over at Pearl, who cast her eyes down at the floor.

"You need to spend time with your family," Blanche insisted. 

"I'm not a child," Rose said, folding her legs and refusing to stand. 

"No, ma'am. But you are a Diamond, and you have a Diamond's responsibilities. Now, get dressed and I'll drive you home."

Rose looked over to Blanche, whose expression hadn't changed even the tiniest bit. Still smiling. 

Then over at Pearl, who was clearly embarrassed, mortified at being caught in the act. Again. 

Rose stood up and straightened up her outfit.

"Pearl, I'm..."

She started to say something, but couldn't get the words out. Instead, she sighed and put her head down, like a little girl chastised, and walked towards the locker room.

Pearl let her rapier drop to floor and started walking towards the exit. She hurried past Blanche, trying not to make eye contact with her. 

Then, as she past, she caught a glimpse of Blanche. Saw the deep ugly scars across the side of her face. And her left eye was completely shut.

"We all have our secrets, Miss White," Blanche said, winking her good eye at Pearl. 

Pearl exited as quickly as her legs could carry her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to DreamlandB for help crafting this chapter, particularly in selecting the name for White Pearl/Blanche!


	14. Family

 

Rose couldn't think of anything but Pearl on the ride home. 

Which might have been a blessing, since it helped quench the dread she might otherwise have felt. 

She sat in the backseat silently, staring out the window, as Blanche drove. She didn't say a word the whole time, didn't even glance back at Rose. 

The flush of excitement still thrilled her skin, making her pores stand up underneath her outfit. She remembered the rush of energy and emotion as she and Pearl danced around the gym, how it culminated in something neither of them quite expected.

 _What would Greg think_? was her first thought. But then Greg...well, God bless his soul, he knew how Rose was. She always did what she wanted, and that included not a few lovers. He didn't seem to mind, or at least kept his qualms to himself.

Then...what would her _sisters_ think? 

What would **Mother** think?

Part of her didn't care. They disapproved of everything she did. She was still young, and preferred to enjoy her youth rather than to sit in a boardroom playing at wax dummy. So she went out with friends some nights. Big deal. No reason that should be any of their goddamn business.

And, frankly, given her biggest secret, that part didn't seem to matter much. 

But Pearl! My goodness. She'd been starstruck the moment Pearl showed up at their office asking for a job. Even in Los Angeles, it wasn't every day you met an actual, honest-to-God movie star. Especially one as beautiful and talented as Pearl White.

It had taken some coaxing to bring the actress out of her shell, but it was worth it. That night with the Black Legion...Pearl had been incredible. And this night...well, she was amazing. She had set Rose's heart aflame until the thought consumed her. She wasn't satisfied with just a kiss. 

Indeed, she relished the thought of her sisters finding out. Azuria and River were always ranting about Hollywood as a Babylon poisoning America with loose morals and foul politics. So, to imagine that a Hollywood actress - a **woman**! - had seduced her behind their back tickled her to no end. And a Jewess, at that!

What a laugh! What a brilliant way to stick it to her sisters!

And she would be at work every day with her, exchanging furtive, playful glances with Pearl whenever they had a moment. Doing her work quietly beneath a blush, with a secret they both shared. A silent way to rebel.

Her _mother_ , on the other hand? Well, she might be a different story.

Rose knew that, as strict as Azuria and River were, they tried shielding Bianca Diamond from the worst of Rose's excesses. Bianca mostly remained hidden in their home, glimpsed only occasionally by servants and family members, a spectral presence exuding distant menace. Her emotions and thoughts unknowable, impenetrable. 

Sometimes, men - they were mostly men - visited the house and went into her chambers at strange hours: attorneys, businessmen, politicians, perhaps lovers. Or some combination of them all. Holding court in her twilight domain, unseen even by the family, leaving Rose and her sisters to wonder.

And Bianca standing guard outside her door, silently, her one eye fixed on the hallway, that same inscrutable smile marking her face. 

Dinner with her...well, these days it usually only happened when something important was in the works.

And that put Rose on guard. She was still conscious enough of reality to worry. 

She wasn't stupid. She knew her sisters were up to something; the clues were all there, the suspicious figures and studies strewn like breadcrumbs throughout the reports that went across Rose's desk. Still, she hadn't seen enough pieces yet to get a clear picture. 

She worried that she was about to find out. And hoped there would be enough time to stop...whatever Bianca had set in motion. 

For now, she was too busy thinking about what the future held for her and Pearl. When they might meet next. Whether Pearl could _really_ turn her into a master swordfighter in time for their showdown with Colonel De Vries and the Bundists that weekend. 

And so she thought...until she recognized the gates of the Diamond Mansion up ahead. And her smile instantly faded. 

"We're home," Blanche chirped as the car slowed. She looked back over her shoulder to Rose, with a smile that chilled Rose to the marrow. 

* * *

The Diamond Mansion wasn't, by the standards of the ultra-rich, particularly large. Its interiors were etched in cavernous marble but tastefully decorated with modern art and light colored furnishings. A long corridor separated the front door from the reception area and dining room, with a large study off to the side. Azuria was most often found there reading or looking over reports after a long day of work.

A long, winding staircase spanned three separate stories. The first floor had a bedroom each for Bianca and River, at opposite ends. Azuria had the second story, more or less, to herself. And Bianca dwelled on the top floor. 

Outside, unused for some time, were recreational facilities. A tennis court, where Azuria and River used to play regular matches until forced to accept their work. An abandoned stable, when the family had tried to raise horses. A swimming pool, cluttered with dead leaves and algae. Only the gym inside saw occasional use, though these days Rose mostly just hit the punching bag when particularly frustrated with something, or in need of practice for an upcoming melee. 

Rose entered with a little trepidation. She was greeted by Holly, the family maid, who looked her up and down disapprovingly. 

"You are having dinner with your mother and you dressed like _that_?" Holly huffed. 

"This is my work outfit," Rose insisted. "I haven't had time to change it."

"Haven't had time because you're off doing God knows what!" Holly complained. "How often do you need reminded that you are a Diamond...?"

"How often do I need to tell you to put a sock in it?" Rose complained, relishing the goggled expression on Holly's face. "The Help really shouldn't address a Diamond that way, now should they?" 

She allowed a mild smirk to overtake her lips. Having put Holly in her place, she could now surrender without losing face.

"Fine. I will change into a dinner outfit. Tell my sisters I will be down in a few minutes."

"I will be upstairs to see if Madame is ready," Blanche announced. She ghosted past Rose and disappeared up the stairs without making a sound. 

"I hope, for your sake, that you don't speak to your mother the way you speak to me," Holly complained. 

Rose haughtily turned her head aside and headed up to her room.

* * *

She emerged wearing a soft, light pink dress, some gold earrings, a bracelet and white gloves. She brushed past a servant on her way to the dining room. She navigated her way down the end table, seeing her sisters already seated there. 

"You've **finally** made it," Azuria said, hands folded together, not looking at Rose. "Have another adventure after work tonight?"

Rose didn't answer. Instead, she sat down to River, who offered Rose a small, welcoming smile. 

"Any word from Mama?" Rose asked River, pointedly ignoring Azuria. 

"She wasn't feeling well today," River said softly, "so I don't know if she'll be joining us after all. At least, that's what Holly said."

"Maybe it's for the best," Azuria interrupted. She rested her hand on her forehead, closing her eyes as if fighting a terrific headache. "I'm not sure I'm in the mood to be scolded tonight."

" _You're_ worried about being scolded?" Rose scoffed. "That makes a delightful change."

Azuria fixed her with a look of exasperation. "What on Earth else would make her condescend to join us tonight?" she asked wearily. "God knows we're only ever treated to these special dinners when something important's about to happen..."

"Oh Azuria, that's not true," River assured her. "I'm sure Mama just wants to see us."

Azuria didn't answer. 

"When was the last time Mama _just_ wanted to see us?" Rose asked, absently folding a napkin. "Christmas?"

River smiled inscrutably, then patted Rose's head. 

"People can surprise you," she said, leaving Rose to ponder her meaning.

"We go to all this trouble to set things in motion and we're still not doing enough for her," Azuria complained. "God, anything we do, big or small, it's never enough is it?"  

Rose perked up at this, realizing that she'd been clued into something she hadn't heard about before. She waited for Azuria to continue, but she didn't. Instead her sister clammed up, examining a wine glass for imperfections.

"Mama can be very demanding," River agreed. "But that's just because she's been holding this company together since Papa died. It takes a special degree of determination..."

"And heartlessness," Azuria grumbled. 

The room grew silent for a long moment.

"So," River asked, "did you go out with Miss White after work?"

Rose was stunned at the directness of her question. River's face seemed benevolent and understanding, as usual, but...Well, that made it harder to tell what she meant. Had Blanche called ahead and told her something?

"No," Rose sputtered. "I mean, well...Yes, I did."

"And where did you go?"

"We just went to a gymnasium in the city to exercise. She was showing me her swordfighting skills."

Rose raised her hand to her mouth, as if she'd let slip a secret. River just chuckled slightly. 

"Swordfighting, indeed?"

"Well, yeah...It's something she learned for one of her movies."

"Quite a remarkable woman," River said evenly.

"She certainly is," Rose admitted, blushing. 

"Certainly a remarkable woman to be working as a secretary," Azuria said, the hint of suspicion curling around her monotone. 

"Well...she wanted a change," Rose said, trying to remember Pearl's wording. "And she couldn't get work in Hollywood any more, so it's not like..."

"You know _why_ she couldn't get work in Hollywood?" Azuria asked. "Did it occur to you that a girl like that doesn't just disappear from the movie scene unless something happens..." 

Rose felt a tinge of nervousness. She looked down at her hands, noticed that she was still twisting the napkin into ever-smaller squares. 

"Well, it doesn't matter to me," Rose said quietly. "She's a good employee, and...a good friend."

Azuria just sniffed. But River, as always, smiled. 

"Well, it's lovely that you have a friend besides...the riff-raff you sometimes associate with," she said with benevolent condescension. "At least a 

"She is an indecent woman," Azuria objected. 

"Sure, if you believe the tabloids," Rose hissed. "Nobody can trust what that damned Aquamarine writes..." 

"How do you even know what she writes?" Azuria roared, suddenly angry. 

"How do _you_?" Rose challenged. She bolted to her feet, challenging her sister. Azuria, amazingly, seemed intimidated by her show of defiance, even as Rose stood there trembling, more terrified than angry. 

"Not every person I meet is...indecent," Rose said through clenched teeth, struggling to keep it together. "You thought the same about Greg, and..."

"Don't bring **him** into this."

"And not every person who doesn't run a business is worthless. I'm sorry you can't see things that way, but..."

"And there's Pink Diamond again," Azuria said. "My Lord, all these years haven't taught you a thing."

"I'm surprised they don't call you Brown Diamond, considering the crowd you run around with."

Now it was Azuria's turn to stand up. Rose laughed at her reaction - a loud, defiant laugh, prideful at striking a nerve. 

"Rose," River whispered, pulling gently at her arm. But Rose wasn't in a mood to listen. 

"Let me tell you something, dear sister," Rose said, leaning across the table, fixing Azuria with a hateful glare. "There is no way in hell that Colonel De Vries will ever become President, or Fuhrer, or Duce, or whatever you have planned. He is nothing but a pathetic little boy playing dress-up, a jerk pretending to be a soldier. You can spend all your time and money grooming him and you might as well be flushing it down the commode."

Azuria smirked. "There's so much you don't understand," she said simply.

"Try me," Rose said.

But no answer came. Just more quiet, burning condescension. 

"Our little idealist," River said. 

"We accept things as they are, not the way they could, or should be," Azuria said evenly. 

"That's why you're trying to make things _worse_ ," Rose hissed again. 

"From whose perspective?" Azuria asked. "Worse for the Communists? Worse for the rabble rousers and the government bureaucrats? Worse for the Jews and the Negroes? Worse for the uppity little idealists who refuse to accept that the world doesn't revolve around them?"

"The world **does** revolve around me," Rose said. "And you, and River, and Mama. And that's the problem."

"Don't act so conceited," Azuria scoffed.

"Fund all the candidates you want," she continued. "Funnel money to your weird little militias and would-be Brownshirts. Print up your little hate sheets about how Jews and Communists are ruining America. All you'll have done is wasted it all on nonsense. Because this country won't become a dictatorship, no matter how much you want it to. There are still decent people in this world, after all this time, and they outnumber the monsters like you."

"That's enough!" Azuria barked. "You're getting hysterical again..." 

"And you're afraid," Rose accused. "Afraid of being exposed for what you really are, aren't you? Well, I suppose it's an open secret anyway..."

"Do you _really_ want us to call Dr. Van Dyke again? I'm sure it could be arranged..."

"All the doctors in the world can't hide what you really are."

"There are numerous ways of dealing with hysterical women, now..."

"The people will see through you, and Mama, and every wretched person who works here..."

"And now she talks about The People as if she's _one_ of them!" Azuria mocked, in a tone scornful even by her standards. "As if she _understands_ them! Oh, dear benevolent Rose, who spends her life living in splendor and condescends to talk with the Help occasionally! That is, if they're former movie stars and washed-up businesswomen..."

"Azuria," River interjected. 

"...with the same low morals and lunatic ideas about making the world a better place instead of fixing what's really wrong with it!"

"Azuria."

"Well, better for whom? That's what people like you never ask yourselves. Look what's happened over in Russia, for Christ's sake! Do you think the Revolution will spare you just because you talk with your secretary? No, they'll consider you just as much an enemy! They'll send you to the gulag or the guillotine because you're a parasite on the working class! It's time you dropped this schoolgirl silliness and realize where your interests really lie. That we need to fight back with all the resources at our disposal to save this country and keep the undeserving from clawing over us. Even if that means..." 

She didn't finish the sentence, seeming to catch herself before she said too much. 

Rose was angry, but couldn't form words. She looked to River for guidance, but her other sister just stared incredulously.

Then back to Azuria, whose face reeked of smugness.

"If you want to make a difference," she sneered, "write a check."

Rose stared at her for a long, angry minute, balling her fists.

Then she reached over and smashed her wine glass against the table. Then stormed out of the hall, ignoring her sisters' cries.

* * *

Rose went into her room and locked the door. She felt like smashing everything to bits, felt like screaming and crying. Instead, she sat there, thinking of her next course of action.

She knew she couldn't reason with her sisters. She certainly couldn't shame or threaten them. And her Mother...

Her thoughts were interrupted by knocking at the door.

"Miss Rose, are you all right?"

Holly's voice. Of course it was her.

"I am fine," Rose insisted. 

"Miss Azuria sent me to check, she was concerned about..."

"If she was really concerned, she would have come herself," Rose pouted. 

She heard Holly muttering to herself on the other side of the door. 

"Well, your mother is waiting downstairs and she is eager to see you."

Rose shook her head. After what had just happened, she had no interest in facing Bianca.

"Tell her I will be right down," she choked out. She waited until Holly's footsteps faded down the hall before she went into action.

She looked frantically around for something. She grabbed her purse, a pair of sensible shoes, and shoved a casual outfit into her purse as best it could fit. Which really wasn't at all, but better than nothing.

She glanced out the window, into the courtyard below. It was about a ten foot jump...potentially dangerous, but not a death sentence.

Carefully she calculated the likelihood of hitting a patch of bushes. She took off her heels, pondered how she might deal with.

She began formulating a plan, of sorts. She would escape the grounds and sneak to the nearest town - by car if possible, on foot if necessary. And place a phone call. To Amethyst or Skinny or one of the others, perhaps. Or to Greg.

Or to Pearl. Though that might be risky.

Either way, she couldn't stay here. 

She took one last glance behind her, then threw her purse to the ground below. It landed on its side, spilling the contents out. 

Rose leaned out the window, cursing at her dress getting caught in the frame, then she jumped. And landed on a bush.

It took her a moment to pick herself out of it. Part of her skirt was caught on a branch and it tore the fabric. 

She'd barely broken free when she noticed she wasn't alone. 

A uniformed watchman stood about a foot away from her, blocking her path. Two other figures at the far end of the courtyard, arms folded.

And barely visible through the light was another familiar figure, wearing a black dress barely visible in the light.

In fact, Rose only recognized her by her shock of white hair, and preternaturally pale face.

She started to say something - an apology, an excuse, a lie - but her voice caught in her throat. Nothing came. And nothing would matter, anyway.

"Hello, Starlight," Bianca said. "Where are you headed this time of night?" 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	15. The Girl in Blue

Pearl decided, after what happened with Rose, not to meet Peridot at the restaurant. 

Their previous plan didn't feel safe any more. Nowhere public seemed like a good idea. Especially if the Diamonds had people watching her. 

Especially if they were creepy servants with one eye and a face full of mystery. 

Maybe, if she'd thought about it more, she would have realized that Peridot's office wasn't exactly a private place either. Or that Peridot might well have left before she got there - it was something of a drive, after all. But she wasn't thinking clearly.

She just wanted to put what had happened behind her. Wondered how long she could trust the discretion of, what's her name? Blanche? Wondered how long until Rose's sisters found out about...And what they might **do**.

Pearl felt sick to her stomach by the time she reached Peridot's office. She felt anxiety squeezing in on her chest. All the stupid risks she'd taken coming back to bite her. 

And now...of course it was _that_ part of her that would bring it all crashing down. Because she was too stupid not to fall for someone...

Pearl took a seemingly endless number of deep breaths, trying to force the angry thoughts down. Trying to collect everything she'd learned about the Diamonds into coherent form. Trying to remember...

Trying to remember that she faced something bigger than her. 

It took longer than that, though, to force the taste of Rose's lips from her mind. That was something she'd have to worry about later.

Finally, after several minutes, she felt ready. She took one last breath, brushed back the loose strands of her hair, exited the car and marched into Peridot's office. She affected a look of steely determination, her best Joan Crawford perhaps, but her trembling shoulders gave the game away. 

She walked up the steps, down the hall to the office. Fearing someone might be lurking in the shadows.

She finally reached the door, seeing a dim light inside through the window.

She jiggled the door knob. Locked. 

"Peridot, it's me," Pearl said, her voice offering a hint of worry. She couldn't help jiggling the doorknob harder as she waited. 

After a moment, Peridot opened the door. She was dressed in shirt sleeves and slacks, as if preparing for bed, though her face was animated and alive. 

"Pearl! Oh my stars, I forgot! We were supposed to meet..."

"Never mind that!" Pearl insisted, storming past her into the office and slamming the door. 

"We're onto something really dangerous, and..." 

Pearl froze, and her words caught in her throat. 

The last thing Pearl had expected was to see **her** , reclining in a corner with legs crossed and a lit cigarette between her fingers.

"Hi, Pearl," Lapis Lazuli said, exhaling a menacing billow of smoke towards her ex. "Long time, no see." 

* * *

It took Pearl a few minutes to calm down. Peridot gave her some water and a light sedative, and yet Pearl's legs still shook, eyes darting back and forth. She ended up bumming a cigarette off of Lapis, while Peridot, her nose sealed shut by bandages, watched in envy.

"So Rose Diamond is a dyke, huh?" Lapis said casually. "Could have fooled me."

"I told you I don't appreciate that word," Pearl warned, breathing so deeply that she choked on a thick cloud of tobacco. 

Lapis laughed.

"You never _could_ stand tobacco," Lapis teased, blowing smoke rings at Pearl. 

"I-I haven't had much..." Pearl sputtered, until another spasm of coughing overtook her. Peridot rushed over with another glass of water; Pearl took a deep drink, then dropped her cigarette on the floor.

"Jesus, Pearl, that's **wood**!" Peridot squealed, stomping it out with her shoe. 

"So what are you doing here?" Pearl demanded, her voice still clouded with smoke and phlegm. "Coming to tease me about your latest squeeze? The latest career that you ruined with your..." Another cough, surely covering a vulgarity. 

Lapis's face knotted in anger. "Not fair, Pearl. As you'll recall, my career was ruined, too. Heck, I'll go beyond that - you _had_ a career to ruin. I was still trying to start one. And I've basically had to make do with...you know, whatever I can find. Little singing gigs here and there, mostly to audiences of...I'm sorry, what term should I use for people like us? Inverts? Lesbians?" 

"Let's make do with that," Pearl said. "It doesn't matter that much, I guess." 

"Yeah. But the point is, it's hard to find one of those that pays very much. Maybe you'll get a rich broad every once in awhile, but they don't come very often, or very well for that matter. You might find some nightclub owner who wants to give you a chance, but on the condition that he wants to fuck the women thoughts out of you. And..." Lapis shivered, implying that was something she'd experienced more than once.

"Believe me, I know all about that," Pearl reminded her. "I told you what happened with Louis B. Mayer..."

"Ladies, I don't wanna cut short your mutual bitchery," Peridot interrupted, "it's very entertaining and all. But right now there are more important things to discuss. For instance..."

And Peridot moved over to her desk, grabbing the newspaper with Lord Dashiell's obituary.

"Now, Miss Lazuli here presented me with some very interesting information," she said, moving between Pearl and Lapis. Though she noticed that they looked past her, at each other, eyes like two predators challenging each other. Peridot decided to ignore it as best she could.

"The Diamonds are purchasing land around Los Angeles County. And here's the kicker: they're doing it under assumed names. Like this gentleman, who died in a nursing home a few days ago."

"Why would they do that?" Pearl asked, still shooting daggers at Lapis across the room. 

"Harder to keep track of," Lapis offered. "People buy a lot of land under a company name, it's hard to hide. But if it's purchased under a variety of different names...it's an old trick." 

"... _Right_ ," Peridot grumbled, a little disappointed that she didn't get to explain that point herself. "So, they're buying a lot of land. But to what end?"

"They're looking for new water property outside the city," Pearl said. "I mean, I've seen the documents. They're having geologists and other experts testing in the San Gabriel Valley."

"Which is stupid," Peridot said. "First of all, there isn't enough money in San Gabriel to turn a profit. It doesn't feed into the city and won't without a major pipeline or some diversion of resources that will take years to complete. All of that would spark another Water War and it didn't turn out so well last time...Even the Diamonds don't want armed farmers crashing public meetings and blowing up construction sites."

"Well, they won't have that problem if they purchase the land," Pearl pointed out.

"Tenants can still fight back," Peridot said. "We're talking about people who have primal attachment to their property. People who remember the Dust Bowl and don't want to move again. Would rather kill or be killed than relocate."

"Well...the Diamonds have ways of making that happen." 

"True. And yet I think we're missing the big picture here." 

Peridot went over to her desk and pulled out the receipt for poisons she'd received in the mail. Lapis smirked with satisfaction from across the room.  

Pearl scanned it, and her face went white. It didn't take a verbal explanation for the implications of...this to sink in.

"Holy Moses."

"Yeah."

"You mean..."

" _Yeah_." 

Pearl trembled and let the paper drop to the floor.

"Quite convenient," Peridot said, pacing animatedly as she elaborated. "Killing two birds with one stone. They're feeding poison into the water systems of mostly Jewish and Mexican neighborhoods. Trying to exterminate the _untermenschen_ in a way that's not easily detected. They'll frame it as an outbreak of disease and get the Health Commissioner to investigate. When people keep dying they'll move to get the Manager of Power and Water fired because they can't stop it. And replace them with somebody they can better control. And then...they'll conveniently have found a new, clean source of water outside the city that can't possibly be contaminated. And construction can begin on a new pipeline to tap into their resources and...Blammo! Instant profit!"

She stopped with a dramatic pause, looking to Lapis for confirmation. Lapis just nodded and drew on her cigarette.

"Murder. Mass murder. Combined with profits, because what good is massacring people if you can't make a buck?" 

Peridot seemed _excited_ by all this in a way that didn't seem appropriate for the circumstances. Pearl felt more than a little miffed, but didn't say anything. Because the enormity of all was too much to take in.

"Good Lord," she said, sinking back in her chair. "I knew...I knew they were rotten people, I've seen it up close. But that's... _That_ 's..."

She closed her eyes and fought back a feeling of dread, of angry sadness that made her want to vomit. Horrifying images of mass graves and shattered glass flashed through her mind. All the usual suspects.

Colonel De Vries with his psychotic growl. Azuria's pompous anger, River's veiled threats. The cowering Blue, terrified at her mistreatment, ashamed of her race. The one-eyed wink of the inscrutable Blanche.

The portrait of Bianca Diamond staring down remorseless from the office corridor, a Goddess of Death. 

Yet that moment of despair animated her. Made her more resolute, more determined to do something.

Rose flashed into her mind, with equally dread thoughts about what might be happening. And the firm resolution that Pearl wouldn't let them happen.

"Well, there are other problems," Lapis said, cutting into Pearl's thoughts. "Like the Diamonds trying to create a fascist army."

Pearl's eyes bolted open at that. 

"Saw 'em myself," Peridot agreed. "Have their own little camp out on the edges of the city. Shooting at pictures of the President, like the class acts that they are."

"Colonel De Vries..." Pearl muttered. Now that part made sense. 

"Well, they tried elective politics and that didn't work," Peridot agreed. "Couldn't get anyone to vote for someone so... **obviously** evil. Now they're trying the Mussolini way. Those Silver Shirt creeps and the German-American Bund will be more than happy to oblige them. Colonel De Vries will become their leader. And the Diamonds...well, I think they're content staying in the background. These types usually are."

"There's a big Bund rally in town this weekend, as I'm sure you're aware. Guess who's behind it. Guess who's their featured speaker. Guess where it might lead." 

Pearl took in the magnitude of everything they were piecing together. She didn't feel scared any more; now, she wanted to fight. 

"I know some people who might be able to help us," Pearl said. 

"Your Hollywood connections? Well, that's a start, but I think it might require a bit more...direct a fashion." 

"Them, and others," Pearl said with a proud smirk. 

"These _others_ better be pretty damn tough," Lapis warned. "I mean, I've seen the kind of people are working with..."

"She's here with Jasper," Peridot offered. And Pearl stared at Lapis with a mixture of bafflement and hatred.

"...Yeah. It's true." Lapis admitted, a little sheepish. 

Pearl scoffed, thinking of the most hurtful thing to say. 

"I knew that you'd fallen pretty far in life," she said, "but I didn't think you'd ever become a whore."

Lapis stood up and slapped Pearl across the face. So hard that even through Lapis's gloves, it left a mark.

"Ladies, let's not fight," Peridot said, moving between them again. "Save it for the fascists, okay?" 

Pearl inclined her chin in arrogant defiance, refusing to apologize. It was worth it to see Lapis flush with rage. 

"But yeah..." Lapis said, turning away from Pearl and walking back towards her chair. "I'd been seeing Jasper in Chicago, and...she's with Murder, Incorporated. As you probably guessed. They don't have a lot of women working for them, they have very old-time values about femininity and shit. But Jasper's somebody they've found useful for...certain situations.

"I never minded that. I mean, maybe a little, there's always a little Catholic guilt in the back of my mind knowing what she did. What she does. But I needed someone..." she laced this word with as much venom towards Pearl as she could muster..."and I liked the money. And I guess I kidded myself. She was only hurting bad people, and I could live with that. But she came out here, and started associating with those corporate pricks, and..."

Lapis became silent, pressing up against the door with her hand. Looking wistfully into the hallway. 

"Some things are just too much." Her voice broke as she contemplated those things.

"Well, I'm glad to see you've finally come around to the side of decency," Pearl chided. 

"Why don't you fuck yourself, Pearl?" Lapis said, spinning around with rage. She wanted to say something clever, but only one question came to mind. 

"How's your latest picture coming along?"

This time P,earl seemed ready to attack Lapis. And again, Peridot stepped in to referee. 

"Jesus, ladies!" Peridot said again. "Look, there'll be plenty of people to hurt later. People who deserve it, not people with...messed-up feelings about each other. All right?"

Pearl glowered and moved back to the chair she'd been sitting in. Peridot went over to Lapis and calmed her down by stroking her back and mumbling something in her ear. 

"God, I need a drink," Pearl muttered. 

* * *

Peridot had left the room to get a file or something, leaving Pearl and Lapis alone, trying not to make eye contact or acknowledge each other, for fear what might happen if they did. There was so much that they needed to say after all this time, and so little that they _wanted_ to. 

Silence between them, for what seemed like ages. 

"I'd be lying if I said it was good to see you," Pearl finally muttered, turning her head away and looking at the floor. 

"Likewise."

Silence for a long moment.

"You know..." Lapis started, half-apologetic, half-defiant. "I don't know what you think of me...I'm sure you must hate me. But I didn't...it wasn't my...it was my career, too. It was my life."

"Yeah."

"I mean, it's some cold comfort to you, I'm sure...but at least Pearl White, Disgraced Star is still Pearl White. You still worked with Randolph Scott and Myrna Loy. Your movies are still...You have _something_. I'm just The Girl in Blue. Nobody will ever know anything else about me...I'll be a pseudonym in some trashy tabloid forty years from now." 

Pearl thought about that. She noticed Lapis looked, acted...sounded more vulnerable than she had just a few moments before. Either she was sincere, or a much better actress than Pearl had guessed.

Either way, Pearl had to measure her words carefully.

"You know, when we first met...I was pretty comfortable about being who I am. Hollywood's not really a bad place to be a lesbian...compared to other places. I mean, I got more grief here about being Jewish than liking women. Which is more than a little ironic, if you think about it..."

"Yeah." Lapis allowed the faintest crinkle of a smile to cross her face. 

"Now I feel like...after what happened, I feel the way everybody else feels. The way they _wanted_ me to feel. Disgraced. Ruined. That there's something wrong with me. That there's nothing of worth left within me. That I don't amount to anything. I'm just another Hollywood slut, and probably worse because..."

Pearl sighed and let the thought trail off. 

"I'm sorry that it happened to you, too," Pearl offered, her voice empty. Then she moved to leave. 

Lapis grabbed her arm. Pearl's face flashed with resentment, and she turned her head and saw Lapis's face, her eyes brimming with tears, face beautified with pain and resentment and a million flickering emotions. 

Something snapped within Pearl. A million pleasant memories came flooding back. And a million emotions she'd tried to forget.

She never could resist _that_ look.

She reached over and planted a full-mouthed kiss on Lapis. Even hungrier than the one she'd given Rose an hour earlier. 

Then she pulled herself away and hurried out of the room. Leaving Lapis alone, lips on the back of her hand, until Peridot reentered the room.

"Well, we've certainly had one hell of an evening," Peridot said. "Anything else I can do for you, tonight?" 

Lapis acted oblivious for a moment, distant. Then she looked down at Peridot, her shirt unbuttoned, as frazzled and endearingly butch as Pearl was immaculately feminine, and grabbed an idea. 

"Take me to bed," she whispered.

"... _Excuse_ me?" Peridot stared.

That was the furthest thing from Peridot's mind, just that moment. 

Lapis grabbed Peridot's shoulders and pulled her close, breathing smokily into her face.

"Let me put it in terms that even a PI can understand. **Fuck** me, you stupid dick."

Peridot seemed confused, a little wary. But she looked into Lapis's eyes and down at her cleavage. She licked her lips anxiously, considering her options before swallowing and drawing the only possibly conclusion. 

"Well...how can I turn down an invitation like **that**?"  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Blue Pearl Lamentation for her help brainstorming this chapter.


	16. Discretion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for irregular updates! My life is kinda in turmoil right now so it's hard for me to commit to a set schedule. Hopefully things will stabilize soon. Thanks always for reading and commenting!

Peridot lay in bed, hair frazzled and body splayed out, taking in what had just happened. 

Lapis lay curled at her feet like a large cat, snoring gently, her face uncharacteristically beatific and untroubled in sleep. So different from the woman who'd made wild, animal love to her just a few minutes prior. 

She desperately wanted a cigarette. She hadn't smoked in days, due to her nose, and she still trembled occasionally at the thought of nicotine. Instead she busied herself trying to sort through her thoughts, all the little clues and implications that were finally adding up into something horrifying. 

She was still a little amazed at how ambitious, how brazen the whole plan was. Mass murder? In the United States? Sure, there was crime. There was murder and robbery all the time? There were even lynchings, and those were fucking horrible. But something like this...it didn't seem real.

She remembered seeing an old serial, Commander Cody or Fu Manchu or something like that (who could sort out those awful things?) a few years ago, where the supervillain had a dastardly plan. He somehow bought, or stole, or otherwise obtained the world's supply of black plague bacteria, and planned to unleash it upon the world unless he received an outrageous ransom...or if the intrepid heroes stopped him.   

Well, it seemed far-fetched and absurd to Peridot at the time, and just a time filler anyway until the main feature began. Bad guys, Peridot knew, weren't that subtle or clever in the real world. They'd rather shoot or stab or beat or maybe, at a maximum, use a bomb. Killing wholesale like this was unimaginable, outside of a faraway battlefield. 

But now she was living that Commander Cody plot. And she had the receipts to prove it. 

She couldn't quite figure out why. The profit motive explained the buying up land and controlling the water supply. People will do anything for money, especially people who already have lots of money and want more. But using that to murder thousands, maybe millions of people? 

That was a horror she couldn't begin to comprehend. 

Her leg started twitching anxiously. Partly from nicotine withdrawal, partly from residual pangs of orgasm. But now excitement about her job started to flood back. She knew she wasn't going to sleep. And she half-bolted out of her bed, ready to save the world. 

Except her leg kicked Lapis in the chest. She snorted loudly and woke up, shooting Peridot an evil eye.

"What the hell?" she groaned.

"Sorry," Peridot muttered. Lapis stared blankly at her for a moment, eyes heavy with sleep, then laid her head back down on the bed.

"I was in the middle of the most wonderful dream," she muttered. "I was a kid again. Went home to my folks in Illinois and my dog and just...none of this ever happened. I got a fresh start. A blank slate. No sins, no screw-ups, no bad decisions. Just...me." 

"Sounds boring," Peridot said. 

"I _like_ boring," Lapis murmured into the blanket.

"I find that hard to believe."

Lapis sat up, fixing Peridot with a baleful stare.

"Trust me. When you've lived a life like mine, boring seems incredible."

"My life hasn't exactly been dull, either."

"No," Lapis said, her eyes flashing mischievously. "I can tell that by your, erm, _technique_."

Peridot flushed and curled her legs back towards her. 

"My _technique_...is nothing special. Just something I picked up over the years. You have enough partners, you pick up a few things."

"Maybe. Or maybe you're a natural."

 

A few minutes ago, Peridot would have been all about the raunchy pillow talk. But right now, she was feeling animated. And restless. Her mind somewhere other than the bedroom. 

Lapis sensed this, and her smile faded. She just stared at the detective, as if trying to read her thoughts.

"...How did you get into this case, anyway?"

"Hmm?"

"You really like Pearl that much?"

"Pearl and I are old friends. Even before she was a big star. I do favors for people I like. Especially when it's something like this."

"You don't strike me as the political type."

"Oh, I'm not. Not in the sense I'd go out and campaign for anyone, anyway. All politicians are rotten, filthy shit - or are bought by rotten, filthy shits. That's just how the world works. But still and all, there's a baseline of decency I'd prefer not to cross."

Lapis nodded thoughtfully, considering Peridot's words. She sat up, looking out the window into the street below. 

"We all have our limits," she agreed mysteriously. 

Her eyes lit up as a light flashed below. 

"What will you do now?" Peridot asked. "You came here with Jasper. I doubt she's gonna let you crawl back into her arms after..."

"I don't want to think about it," Lapis insisted. She covered herself up as best she could, snatching the blanket off the bed. Leaving Peridot exposed and grabbing at a pillow.

"Jesus Christ..." she sputtered, blushing furiously. 

"You are modest," Lapis teased. 

"At least it's warm in here," Peridot said, seemingly deeply offended.

Lapis allowed herself a little chuckle, then wandered over to the window. She looked down into the street again for a long moment. Peridot was too distracted to notice the thoughts, the emotions flickering across her face. 

"What will _you_ do now?" Lapis threw the question back at her. 

"I have friends on the police force," Peridot reflected. "Of course, I get the hint that none of them care all that much about fascists taking over the city. All the same so long as they leave the Good Christian Americans alone."

"Hmm," Lapis said, fingers slowly drawing back the curtain. 

"I guess there's the FBI, but..."

"Maybe you'll have to go in and bash some heads yourself," Lapis suggested. 

"I would love that," Peridot said. "But I'm not much in a fight." 

"You seem like a scrapper to me."

"Oh, don't get me wrong - I can kill someone if I have to. Maybe beat up a heel or two in a face-to-face rumble. But a whole gang of Nazis and gangsters? A bit much, even for me."

"Even for you," Lapis said, allowing a small smile to cross her face. 

"It's stuffy in here," she muttered, jerking the window open with a start.  

"Christ!" Peridot exclaimed, shrinking away from the window. "At least keep the curtains closed!"

Lapis reacted with surprise.

"I thought your, erm, sexual preference was common knowledge."

"I suppose, but it still doesn't do me any good if someone takes pictures..." 

"Who would be stalking _you_ out?"

"You'd be surprised."

"Made a lot of enemies in L.A., huh?"

"Not as many as back home...Yet." 

"That's a high bar, I'm guessing."

"It's a little different than Chicago, though. People around here like to snoop. Everyone likes their scandals,  _especially_ if there's pictures."

"Are you really that famous?"

"In certain circles."

"You have a very high opinion of yourself, Peridot." 

"Should I not?"

"Ideally, no." 

"All the same, I don't want to see my breasts splayed across every tabloid in the city, if I can avoid that..."

Lapis bit her lip, hearing those words. Peridot looked after her, realizing what she'd just said. But she couldn't make herself apologize. 

And Lapis slinked off into the bathroom and closed the door.

Peridot lay back and sighed, feeling a deep stab of remorse. She waited for Lapis to come out, but after several minutes, she still hadn't. 

Finally, she forced herself to slip on her shirt and stand up. If Lapis wouldn't 

She felt a gust of cool air from outside, making her bare legs shiver.

She walked over to the window to close it. 

Something in the street caught her eye.

She didn't have more than a second to put things together. But it was enough. 

She ducked just as one hundred white-hot bullets rocketed past her ears.

 

* * *

Lapis heard the shooting from the bathroom and quickly finished the note she'd been scribbling. Didn't hear any noise from Peridot - not a scream or a shout or even the sound of her body hitting the floor. Maybe she'd been killed in the first burst. Quickly, painlessly. 

Lapis felt sick to her stomach, contemplating the thought that, despite everything, her latest inamorata was _dead_. She had enough on her conscience already...enough for three lifetimes.

And she was hoping they'd miss. Hoping that Peridot would be fast enough to jump out of the way in time. Hoping that somehow, some way, the weird, butch little detective might survive and unravel the monstrous conspiracy. And read the note, giving more clues than she'd had the guts to tell Peridot to her face.

And yet she'd done it anyway. She'd played her part in setting Peridot up. She'd given the signal. 

She'd allowed cowardice to override decency. Not for the first time. 

For the moment, Lapis swallowed her nausea and self-hatred. She wiggled into her dress, now badly wrinkled from Peridot's rough hammering. Sitting on the commode, waiting for the gunfire to stop.

Her hands shook as she tried to light a cigarette. Failed - she heard a ricochet against thew all, flinched and dropped the lighter on the ground. Kept the unlit cigarette between her teeth, uttered "fuck" but didn't move.

Finally, the shooting stopped. Her ears rang and buzzed and throbbed with pain, and she waited until the worst of it faded. She spit her cigarette onto the ground. 

She staggered into the hallway, looking into Peridot's apartment.

The bed, the wall, the furniture - all riddled with bullets. Broken glass and wood and plastic fragments everywhere. Like a bomb had exploded. 

Trembling, Lapis's eyes swept the room, looking for a sign of Peridot amidst the broken glass. Terrified of confirming what she'd suspected...

Finally, she heard a groan, and saw Peridot's head slowly peer up from behind the bed. 

"Peridot...you're okay!" Lapis shouted, genuinely relieved. 

 

Her happiness was short-lived. She saw Peridot's face flash with confusion and frustration, before settling on anger. Because she wasn't dumb. She knew exactly what Lapis had done. 

Lapis's heart sunk in her chest. She started to sputter an excuse, an apology, something, as she backed away from the crime scene. But she couldn't make any words come out.

Peridot, slowly pulling herself to her feet, didn't stop staring at her. Eyes full of accusation and hurt. And a slow-burning rage looking for expression. 

Lapis finally turned away and ran out of the apartment, leaving the door open. Peridot heard a loud scream from somewhere down the hall, Lapis's footsteps thudding down the stairs. 

Leaving Peridot standing amidst the mess in her apartment, contemplating what to do next. 

* * *

 

"Is she dead?"

Lapis nodded dumbly as she slipped into the backseat of the car. She watched the man in the passenger's seat, a hulking thug with shock-white hair, slowly stripping a Tommy gun and putting the pieces into a briefcase.

"I would have preferred something quieter, Malachite," Jasper growled from the driver's seat. 

"This is how I operate," Malachite said. "I'm better with a gun than my hands."

"Then we should have picked her up and taken her somewhere we could dump the body. One bullet in the back of the head. It would have been easier."

"Getting that broad into a car wouldn't have been easy. Besides, this sends a message."

Jasper rolled her eyes. "I'm not about sending a message. I'm about doing my damn job."

"Do our employers feel the same way?"

"Our employers want discretion, and a Tommy gun is **not** discretion."

Lapis zoned out of the tough guy talk, watching her partner and _her_ business partner spar.

At least she could take some satisfaction that they'd failed. And that they didn't know it. But she had no clue what Peridot might do next.

And that's what scared her. Because Peridot didn't frighten easily. And something like this would only embolden her.

Peridot was tough. And determined. She knew that much, just from talking to her on the phone. Just from the murderous look in her eyes a few minutes ago. But that didn't mean she knew who, or what she was up against. 

Because if Peridot was tough...well, wait until she met Jasper. And Malachite. 

Then she remembered Peridot did know Jasper, and smiled.

A police car raced past them, sirens blaring, speeding towards the scene of the crime. Jasper smiled with grim satisfaction. 

"Honey, you played your part beautifully," she said to Lapis. "I told you you wouldn't get hurt, you just had to play your string out like we talked about." 

"Well, at least you didn't make me shoot her myself," Lapis murmured bitterly. 

"Probably better if you had," Malachite said. "At least give her the coup de grace afterwards."

Lapis wondered if he _knew_. But no, it was probably just more macho talk.

"I don't know how to handle a gun, and I'm not gonna use for it..." 

"Easy, Lapis," Jasper cut in. "No reason to get hysterical."

"I'm not hysterical," Lapis said, though her voice cracked as she said it. Jasper noticed her eyes welling with tears, and her own face contorted into a hateful sneer. 

"Oh Christ," Jasper said. "You're feeling sentimental again."

"What?" Lapis asked. 

"You know what I mean. Any time you get anywhere near my work, you get like this."

"Like what?"

"Like you cared about the people we work with. Like it mattered. Like it hurts you personally."

"I'm sorry, I'm still a decent enough person to think **killing** people is somewhat drastic."

"Decent?" Jasper huffed. "Honey, if you were in any way, shape or form decent, you wouldn't be with me, now would you?"

Lapis didn't have an answer to that. Instead she sank back into the backseat, curling into a ball and rocking back and forth. As if the enormity of everything was overtaking her. 

Jasper's face softened momentarily. She reached a hand back to comfort Lapis, then heard the shriek of car tires, a honking horn, and realized that she'd driven into the wrong side of the road.

She straightened out her vehicle and let out an angry sigh. Stared straight ahead, trying not to let Lapis cloud her thoughts. 

Malachite, unfazed, pushed the briefcase under the car seat and lit a cigar.

And they drove on for nearly an hour, until the city faded into the distance.

* * *

They finally stopped in the desert, still close enough to spot the lighted skyline. The sky was jet black, with some clouds crowding out the moon. 

Jasper parked the car on the side and lightly punched the wheel with her fist.

"Shit, I think we're lost," she said. 

"What do you mean, we're lost?" Malachite demanded. "Where the hell have you been driving all this time?" 

"Mickey Cohen told me about a hideout they use in this area. A little farmhouse, I think he said, when they do jobs that"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"And so?"

"You see any farmhouses out here, genius?"

Silence for a moment. 

"Shit." 

"I'm sorry."

"Never trust a broad to drive."

"Fuck you." Jasper seemed more tired than angry as she said it, pushing open the door.

She sighed heavily, cast a glance at Lapis through the rear view mirror. She was sitting up now, eyes heavy with sleep, still sad and downcast.

"Lapis..." Jasper started to say. Then looked over at Malachite, who flicked his cigar stub out the window and leaned back impatiently. 

"I'm gonna get some air," Jasper said, standing up and slamming the door behind her. 

Lapis watched her partner pacing around uneasily, aimlessly. 

"Just needs to let off a little steam," Malachite assured Lapis. "She gets this way after a job sometimes. Don't fret." 

"I know," Lapis muttered. 

"Sorry you had to be involved so directly in this one."

Lapis didn't reply. 

"Usually Jasper tries to keep you on the outside as much as possible. Though I'm sure you know that."

More silence. Lapis didn't like Malachite, and never talked with him more than he had to. 

"It's a shame, too," Malachite said, "because you're one hell of a dame. Gorgeous and crafty and I'm sure you're amazing in bed. There's just one thing that's always bugged me. How could a girl as pretty as you be a dyke?"

Lapis shot him a hateful glare, hearing **that** question for the thousandth time.

Malachite just chuckled.

"Well, I suppose it's a mystery for the ages." He reached into his pocket. "Just wish I'd had a chance to find out."

With quick, surgical precision he drew a stiletto and thrust it into Lapis's heart. 

 

 

 


	17. Guernica

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter features some extremely disturbing imagery.

Pearl spent the evening in a hotel under an assumed name. Was too afraid to reach her apartment, too worried about finding a friend or colleague on whom she'd bring heat. A little angry and frustrated that Lapis Lazuli, of all people, was back in her life. And under such strange, alarming circumstances.

Just the thought of the Diamonds committing mass murder was...well, it alarmed her. It made everything feel more personal than it already was. It raised the stakes to something truly monstrous. Something bigger than her, yet still extremely personal. 

But the more she thought about it, it didn't _surprise_ her, exactly. She knew people like the Diamonds existed, even here in America. They usually hid their prejudices behind a veneer of politeness, of social clubs with barriers to entry and words dripping with hatred. They mixed their racism with greed and exploitation.

She replayed conversations from her past in her mind:

_"Miss Weintraub, you are a remarkable gal. Tell you the truth, I've never seen any woman who carries herself quite the way you do. Your voice, your diction, your posture - hell, you're the first girl I've ever seen with that shade of hair. You sure you didn't dye it? You're pulling my leg, huh?"_

_They_ were the insidious ones. The polite bigots. The rich ones. 

The Brownshirts and the Bundists, those Black Legion clowns in their pirate gowns, Father Coughlin's angry Irish teenagers beating up Jews and Negroes in the street - that was kid's stuff. Those people could be fought and beaten, if necessary. They didn't have any actual power behind them. 

_"Well, I'd like to cast you in my pictures, ma'am - Pearl, did you say? But there are a couple of things I'd like to change..."_

The people with money did. The people who would sell out their country for the chance to punch down. Who viewed people like Pearl as a poison to be purged. A virus. A rodent.

Not a human. 

_"Well, first of all, the name. Yeah, Weintraub is certainly unique, but, uh, you understand it might seem foreign to some folks? Hell, Archibald Leech became Cary Grant, and he's as Gentile as the rest of us. Now, you wouldn't be the first person of your, erm, persuasion to change your name. But let's try something more all-American than Weintraub, shall we?"_

How much Pearl felt sick about it. How many times she'd been snubbed or insulted. How much she'd had to hide her true self, even in Hollywood, where everyone's Judaism was an open secret. How the world knew her as the All-American Pearl White. 

She didn't even go to Temple - that was too risky. She instead prayed in her home, quietly and sorrowfully, the only place she could still be Pearl Weintraub. 

Until it didn't seem worth it any more. 

_"How about White? Pearl White. I like it. Has a nice ring."_

She couldn't remember how it started. Remembered growing up in the Bronx with her family in a crowded tenement. Her father a struggling writer, her mom a seamstress, struggling to make ends meet with four kids and an angry neighborhood.

How much she tried to make her own way, make her own self. Reading all the books she could. Listening to the radio, going to plays and pictures when she had the money. Practicing her diction until the nasal New York voice vanished and she sounded like one of those Shakespearean actresses on the radio. 

Then she started acting in school plays, in local theater companies. Took dance. Read poetry and monologues for the local radio.

Left the Bronx, like so many others, with a suitcase full of old clothes and a head full of dreams. 

 

_The other one...jeez, this is delicate. I don't know quite how to raise this, so...I'll be blunt. Lose the nose."_

Pearl remembered feeling confused, angry at the time. She was being asked, literally, to obliterate her identity. To destroy her Judaism. To deny herself. 

All so that some moviegoers out in middle America wouldn't feel uncomfortable. Wouldn't be confronted with a kike, a Hebe, a Christ-killing Jewess any time they saw her on screen. 

It made her sick. But she didn't dare speak up. Didn't say no. Didn't preserve that piece of her dignity. 

_"It's easy enough to fix, honey. Your schnoz is very, very Jewish. I know a doctor who can help make it look right..."_

She unconsciously raised her hand to her face, fingers brushing the invisible scar on her nose.

A tear ran down her cheek.

Because she realized that, no matter what she said, she couldn't blame it all on _Them_. 

_"There, now that's the most beautiful, dainty nose I've ever seen! My God, you're prettier than Barbara Stanwyck! And I'd say with that hair and those gams, you have the edge on her."_

Even before Hollywood, she denied herself. Denied Pearl Weintraub.

She couldn't blame the studios for that. It was a decision she made herself, long ago. This was just the exclamation point.

And now it made her sick. Thinking that she could pass as a Gentile, now. That it was second nature, because she'd been doing it for years. That was bad enough, in its own way. Her faith was only the occasional prayer, the dietary restrictions she infrequently observed, dim memories of a smoky, crowded tenement a continent away. 

It was sloughed off with her nose. 

And, she thought bitterly, it might spare her life...if this plan isn't stopped.

Try and think of something more pleasant, Pearl told herself.

She lay awake, visions of loves and obsessions, past and present, surging through her mind, taking over her thoughts. Only mildly less unpleasant than thoughts of fascism.

Lapis, the Girl in Blue, with gold in her throat and stars in her eyes, so fresh and innocent in Pearl's memories...

_"Oh, I'm just a singer. They say I have a lovely voice, but they want me to try out for some acting roles. Multi-media star, they say! Pictures, radio, records - the works!"_

Rose, who'd just entered her life, and who'd already set Pearl's heart aflame without even trying. 

_"Pearl White, you and me are gonna get along just fine."_

Staring at the ceiling until it all became unbearable.

She felt a need to pleasure herself. And did so, thoughts flickering frantically between Lapis and Rose, trying to force herself into a moment of pleasure, of distraction.  

That didn't help, either. Because once her mind was cleared of _that_ , it still had other thoughts to process. Neither Rose nor Lapis would disappear with a self-induced orgasm. They were people, not just toys. People she felt very deeply about. People who were in danger. 

So she laid back on the bed, dissatisfied.

* * *

 

And she drifted off to sleep, and dreamed of death. 

Dreamed of the Luftwaffe blames bombing Guernica, streets erupting into flame, buildings shuddering, people running and screaming and falling dead around her. Figures in a Picasso painting come to life. 

Only it was now downtown Los Angeles, and the dead were people she knew. Friends, family members, colleagues from Hollywood. Some corpses, others screaming in pain. 

Dreamed of jackbooted Brownshirts marching through the streets with their blood-red swastika emblem overhead.

She wanted to flee but couldn't. It was a dream, a nightmare, and it was bolted into place.

She looked up and through the rubble, saw a giant face staring through the smoke, beaming beatifically, deeply satisfied at the hell wrought on the unbelievers.

Bianca Diamond. 

"Pearl, help!"

Pearl turned her head and saw...

No, it wasn't.

Rose.

Yes, it was Rose. Standing in the street, bleeding from a head wound. Her features distorted into fuzzy shapes and abstract colors, like Picasso. But the blood was bright, crimson red. 

"Pearl!"

Her voice echoed dimly, as if in a chamber miles away. 

Pearl opened her mouth to say something, but couldn't. Still couldn't move. 

She watched someone rush up to Rose, put a gun to Rose's head, and pull the trigger.

Pearl felt sick. 

Rose cried out. Her head spurted fountains of bright red, spraying Pearl.

She could almost taste the blood. But in her dreams, it tasted of rosewater. 

Pearl waited until the blood washed away and saw...

It was Azuria. Wearing her usual scowl, dressed in a fascist Brownshirt.

She stared at Pearl, expression remaining the same, and marched off roboticly, leaving Rose in the street. 

Pearl heard another explosion and gasped.

**PEARL!**

She turned just in time to see Lapis Lazuli across the street, obliterated by a bomb. Only instead of killing her...instead of ripping her into a million pieces, she smeared instead into an abstract, featureless outline covered in bright blue. 

The Girl in Blue.  

Pearl felt sick. But she still couldn't move. 

She turned her head...

A change of scenery.

A neighborhood with shop windows smashed, the sound of broken glass echoing in the air. Muted screams from figures out of sight. The sky a black void overhead, pitiless and unending.

She looked and saw two men dragging Peridot out into the street. Peridot, wearing her usual outfit, struggling as they forced her to her knees. 

A third figure walked past Pearl, looming over her. They carried a whip with a steel handle. 

They stepped towards Peridot, who spit indistinguishable curses at her. The figure raised the handle and struck Peridot across the face.

Peridot shattered into a million pieces. And shadows swallowed the scene. 

The figure turned to face Pearl. She didn't capture their full features, just burning yellow eyes, rich with hate. 

It took a moment to register that it was Jasper. 

The scenery started spinning...and changed again. 

This time Pearl stood on a movie set, dressed in an overcoat. She had a gun in her hand and heard babbling, incomprehensible voices overlapping each other. Stage directions, movie pitches, lines from movies she'd appeared in, all an indistinguishable blur. 

A figure approached her. Tall and shadowy. Menacing. 

"Stand back," Pearl choked out, cocking the hammer on her gun. 

The figure stepped closer, seeming to grow darker with each passing step.

Pearl took a step back. Turned her head to the shadows, for guidance. 

Saw the director behind the camera: it was her. 

Pearl.

Staring back at her. An angry, hateful glower as she stared through the viewfinder. 

She gasped. And looked at the stage crew. 

Recognized her friends from the Bronx. A young Jewish girl she'd played hopscotch with. An Irish boy with freckles who'd had a crush on her and pulled her pigtails when she was a toddler. A swarthy older boy leaning against a wall. 

A blinding light flashed overhead. 

Pearl couldn't see. She could only see white. 

Yet she could hear the footsteps of the figure approaching her...

**PEARL**

"Stand back! I'm warning you!"

Pearl opened her eyes, could still only see white. 

The voices echoed and cackled in her ears, giving her orders she couldn't understand, but must obey. 

Finally, she saw the outline of the figure, and fired her gun with a scream.

The world went black with the report, the set silent. Only a white, grayscale floor at Pearl's feet.

Pearl stepped over to the figure, now looking quite un-menacing. Human, even. A middle aged woman with graying black hair and soft, uncomprehending eyes.

Pearl took a moment to stare. Then she felt sick and dropped the gun.

Because she recognized the figure of her own mother. 

At that, Pearl finally bolted awake. Looked around until the last vestiges of her dreamworld faded, saw the peeling wallpaper and scratchy blanket and smelled the sterile, mothy air. 

She realized she was sweaty and breathing hard. Laid her head down until she regained control of her breath and focused her thoughts.

Reminded herself that she was awake. That she could still prevent...all of that from happening. 

Well, I'm not getting back to sleep after **that** , she thought. She drank a quick glass of water and wiped the remaining sweat from her brow. 

She put on her coat and wandered down to the hotel lobby, seeing a bored-looking clerk at the desk, struggling to stay awake. She looked at the wall clock. It was only 4:30 am. 

Friday. 

"Excuse me," she asked the clerk. "Do you have a telephone? I know it's a strange hour, but it's kind of an emergency."

The clerk grunted and placed the phone on the desk. He stood there, lighting a cigarette.

"A little _privacy_ , if you don't mind?" Pearl asked in her most imperious movie star voice. 

The clerk shrugged and walked off, breathing a cloud of noxious tobacco in Pearl's face. She waited until he was out of sight, then spin the dial until she reached a number Rose had once given her. 

"Who's calling at this hour?" Amethyst answered on the other line. 

"Amethyst, it's Pearl," Pearl said quietly. 

"Pearl? Rose's friend, Pearl? The movie star?"

"Yes, yes, the movie star."

"What the hell are you doing up at this hour? Rose keeping you up all night, huh?"

"What? No. Rose went back home."

"Oh." Amethyst seemed slightly disappointed. "Where are you, then?"

"I'm at a hotel. Listen, Amethyst...one of my friends...listen, I don't know if I can tell you over the phone, but...Something really awful is happening."

"You're telling me. That German-American-bastard rally is tomorrow night."

This was news to Pearl. She couldn't remember the details, or if Rose had even told her about it. 

"You know, your friend, what's his name, De Vries will be there? Anyway, it's gonna be a big shindig for all the shitheels and jackboots in town. They're expecting a big turnout and we were gonna, you know..."

This gave Pearl a flutter of excitement. 

"Wow."

"Yeah." 

"Just you gals?"

"And you, if you're up for it."

"You know I am!" Pearl said, a little louder than she thought she would. She looked around suspiciously before continuing. 

"Well, I'm glad to see you're up for some fascist-bashing," Amethyst chuckled. "Trust me, there'll be a lot of those bastards coming. But they won't know what hit them. Because the one thing they won't be expecting is..."

"...Tough ladies," Pearl finished. 

Amethyst chuckled. "Pearl, you're incredible. I mean it, for a Hollywood big shot you sure are swell."

"Do we have a plan yet?" Pearl asked. 

"We were gonna meet tomorrow night...I think Rose has been planning everything out herself. With Greg."

Greg. She didn't want to hear that name just now. 

"With Greg?"

"Greg knows a lot of people...let's say, the kind of people these people don't like, if you follow me. And not all of them are happy about De Vries and his friends trying to take over the city, either."

"Well, that's good to hear," Pearl said. 

"Yeah. But...listen, I can't tell you that much now, all right? I don't even know why you're calling, but..."

"Oh...it's been a long, annoying night," Pearl complained. 

"Bad dream, huh?"

"The worst."

"Did you kiss Rose yet?"

Pause. 

"You still there?"

"That's none of your business!" Pearl screamed. 

Amethyst chuckled. "Well, I'll see you tonight, Champagne Girl. That's what they call you, right?"

"Close enough," Pearl sighed. "I'm sorry I bothered you..."

"Nah, it's fine. I wasn't really sleeping anyway...Not much of a sleeper."

"Well, all the same...I'll see you tonight."

"Looking forward to it."

And the phone call ended abruptly, with Pearl still holding the receiver. She felt exhausted, 

Then she remembered it was Friday, and she still had to work that day. To be in the presence of them.

Shit.

Then she thought: well, we're getting ready for a big event. And now we know the basics - the specifics, actually, of what 

And _then_ she thought: I'll be in the presence of **Rose**.

And with _that_ stimulating thought, she hurried back to her room, ignoring the fatigue as she prepared herself. 

* * *

 

Pearl arrived at the office early. She'd headed back to her apartment just long enough to shower and change into her work clothes. Not that you could tell - she looked immaculate, wearing a light blue blouse and her hair styled into a bob - not exactly her usual hairdo, but close enough.

She entered the lobby and walked to the front desk. She spotted Saffron at the front desk and started to say hello, until she heard a familiar, lilting voice:  

"Oh, Pearl, good morning." 

Pearl turned, forcing a smile onto her face, and saw River standing in the lobby, her hands clasped, her face twisted into that deceptively sweet smile. 

"Unfortunately, Rose couldn't make it in today. She's indisposed."

Pearl felt a stab of terror, and her smile faded. 

"What's wrong? Is she okay?"

"She will be fine," River assured her. "Just a bit under the weather, I'm afraid. My mother's summoning her personal doctor to take care of her."

Pearl didn't like the sound of that, either. She felt shivers down her spine. 

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that..."

"Yes, dear," River said, approaching Pearl. "Since Rose isn't here, your services won't be required today. You are free to go home and enjoy a long weekend."

Pearl's mouth dropped open. "But, madam..."

"It's no trouble at all," River said. "We're more than capable of filling in for Rose ourselves."

"But shouldn't someone...I mean, somebody needs to keep all the paperwork in order, and..." 

Pearl tried to think as quickly as she could, thinking of an excuse to stay. Even if Rose wasn't there, she needed to be.

"Don't worry about it," River repeated, drawing close to Pearl. "So long as Rose isn't here, we're not in need of your services."

Pearl mouthed some words, but couldn't force them out. Instead, she swallowed the import of what River told her.

She was still smiling, still the same beatific expression. 

"We'll let you know when Rose returns to work," River said. "Until then, enjoy yourself." 

"Is-is there any way I can talk with her?" Pearl choked out. 

Pearl didn't care if she sounded desperate. Things were unraveling before her eyes, and the implications were terrifying.

She had visions of her dream, of Rose's head turning into a fountain of blood. The taste of rose water on Pearl's lips.

She looked at River's face, her smile seeming inscrutable, unknowable.

Mocking, almost. 

"I'm afraid not," River said quietly. "But we will pass your concern along to her. It is so nice to know that she has such a dedicated employee...and in such short acquaintance, at that."

Pearl looked helplessly past her to Saffron, who pretended to be preoccupied with her work, avoiding eye contact as best she could.

Pearl looked over where Blue usually sat, and saw...

Her throat clenched.

It was Blanche. 

Staring back with her one eye, her smile even more hollow, more mocking than River's.

"Now please, we will be in touch with you shortly..."

Pearl was shaking, on the verge of tears now. She took a moment and prepared to leave...

Then another familiar voice shook the air. This one Pearl wasn't expecting, and was even less happy to hear.

"Miss Diamond, Aquamarine from the Hearst papers. Could I please have a moment of your time?" 


	18. Illustrious Corpses

"Aquamarine, so... _pleasant_ to see you again," River Diamond said. Her smile finally faded, her eyes wide with irritation. Which crept into her voice, as well: "And so **bold** , coming into my office during business hours." 

"You know what they say, early worm gets the corpse," Aquamarine said. 

"And... _who_ says that?" River asked, repulsed by the metaphor. 

Pearl, standing off to one side, breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn't happy, exactly, to see the woman who'd done so much to destroy her career again...but if she was here to talk to the Diamonds...well, maybe that gave her a chance.

"Funny thing about corpses," Aquamarine said, fishing through a portfolio. "People tend to notice them. No matter how much you try to hide them..."

She pulled out a photograph and thrust it into River's hands. River studied it and sighed warily.

"Yes, I remember Mr. Schroeder," she said, handing it back to Aquamarine. "Poor man. I've already said all I had to say about him, to the police, and to papers far more reputable than yours..."

"And yet those papers don't dare to breathe the truth...do they?"

River's eyes went wide again. She looked about ready to kill Aquamarine, who smiled smugly in response.

"Be careful what you print," River warned. "Slander is a very serious offense..." 

"I think you'll find it's libel when written, dear," Aquamarine condescended. 

"You **are** the writer, I'll take your word for it." 

Pearl took advantage of their sparring to slip back towards the desk. She eyed them carefully, but neither seemed to notice, or care. 

She went over to Saffron's desk, and saw that she wasn't there any more.

Pearl stared down for a moment, leaning against the desk, holding her hands together in defeat, the drone of the argument behind her playing out as background noise.

"She's in the back," a voice answered.

Pearl looked over and saw Blanche staring at her. Staring, with that one eye and that inscrutable smile which chilled Pearl to the bone. 

"Saffron went back to see Miss Azuria," Blanche explained, matter-of-factly. "Not sure why. If you need to see her before you go..." And she gestured towards River and Aquamarine. 

Her voice was almost gentle, soothing. Which seemed strange, considering she hadn't really changed her tone since the first time they spoke. And that she was still Bianca's servant. 

Pearl eyes flickered quickly, processing her offer, trying to read her face. No dice. Was this sincere? A trap? Part of some kind of long con? It was impossible to tell.

And Pearl, frankly, was tired, and worried, and a bit sick of having to read into every inflection and every gesture of every person she came across. Especially those without discernible inflection or gestures of any kind.

"T-thank you," Pearl finally muttered.

Blanche just nodded and turned back to her desk, watching the two women arguing in the lobby like an amused spectator.

Pearl decided not to question Blanche just now. Instead, she went down the familiar vestibule towards her main office.

She tried to organize her thoughts a bit, remembering that she'd planned to look in Rose's desk for a sign of what happened to her. Or, perhaps, some incriminating files or documents that might help their investigation.

Briefly, she thought about taking Aquamarine aside and asking her for help. If Aquamarine was investigating Schroeder's murder, maybe she was on to the same thing. Lord knows if she had evidence of a fascist plot, however specious it might seem, she would publish it and to hell with the lawsuits and threats.

But no. Pearl couldn't think of her as an ally, just yet. The anger still hadn't cooled. How could it? And why on Earth should she give that shrimpy, cretinous bitch the scoop of the decade, anyway? And who would believe that story coming from _her_ , anyway?

Aquamarine might be able to ruin lives, Pearl thought acidly, feeling rage boiling in her stomach. But she couldn't save the world.

She rifled through Rose's desk. Pulled open a drawer and saw -

Nothing.

All the papers had been cleared out. There wasn't anything. Not a file, not a note, not a doodle, not even a pencil. 

Keeping an eye towards Azuria's office, she nervously began opening through. Hoping that she'd find something, anything that might be useful.

Nothing. The desk was completely empty.

"Goddammit," Pearl muttered, punching the desktop with a closed fist. 

She couldn't catch a break. And that wasn't even the worst part. 

Her mind spun with thoughts of Rose. Memories of their brief connection, so fatefully interrupted. Fears about what **they** might be doing to her.

As if in answer, she head Azuria's voice booming through the office.

"Saffron, you have given me three-and-a-half years of excellent service," she declaimed. "You have been a loyal, hardworking and dedicate secretary and I'm thankful for all you've done for me and this company. Lord knows that I would hate to lose you...or what I'd do with you."

"Mrs. Diamond, it's been my pleasure to work for you," a nasal voice answered haltingly. "It's just...I can't do this anymore. I'm sorry. Especially after what happened with...with Blue. And the Colonel..."

"Yes. Blue comported herself in a manner _completely_ inappropriate to her profession..."

Pearl felt a surge of helpless anger, but managed to tamp it down. 

"...Still, I am sorry to hear what happened to her. Is she doing all right?"

"She's in the hospital at least for the next few days. The doctors think she'll pull through, but..."

And Pearl felt another stab of fear, of anger. Because this seemed even more cruel, more heartless than hurting Rose.

Rose, she could at least understand. She was a Diamond who wasn't living up to the family name. And, though she shuddered to think about it, there was always a chance that Azuria and River (or, worse, Bianca) knew about her nighttime exploits fighting fascists. 

But Blue? Poor, meek little Blue, a tiny bundle of excitement and repressed joy, sorrow and quivering helplessness? Whose only crime, that Pearl could see, was not taking kindly to a man treating her like property? What kind of monster would even _think_ about hurting her?

The same kind of monster who'd poison a city's water supply, Pearl told herself. Who would kill thousands of people and try to profit off their deaths. Who'd put a man like Colonel De Vries in power. That's the kind of people you're dealing with. 

Forget Rose, if you can. Even forget Blue. But don't forget that.

"...There must be something about this job that puts a strain on everyone," Azuria said. "First Blue, then my sister..."

Pearl felt her heart practically leap through her chest. She listened expectantly for news of Rose.

But Azuria left that tantalizing thread dangling. 

"Well. I suppose I can't blame you for wanting to leave...A pity, though. Is there nothing I can say to convince you to stay?"

No audible response. Pearl heard Azuria sigh loudly. 

"Very well. Thank you for your service. And Saffron, if you ever need help with anything, please don't hesitate. I mean it...anyone will

"Thank you, ma'am. And I appreciate everything you've done for me. Honest. It's just..."

Another pause. Then Pearl heard the office door open and saw Saffron walking out, head lowered with dejection. Not looking sad, not fighting back tears, just...utterly defeated. 

"Saffron..." Pearl began. 

"Didn't think you'd be in today," Saffron muttered, not looking at her. She moved to her desk and started clearing it off, stuffing things into a garbage pail. 

"What's going on? Are you all right?"

"Oh stars! What does it matter if I'm all right?" Saffron said bitterly. "I've never mattered to _anyone_ , anywhere before this job, and now...Now I can't even stand to **think** about it anymore. Now I can't stand to _be here_. This place is poison. This company destroys everything it touches."

All of this had been flat and matter-of-fact. But then a stab of fury overtook Saffron's voice:

"And what does that say about  **me**?" 

With a massive sweep of her arm, she loudly and angrily knocked everything off her desk, onto the floor. A nameplate clanked against the tile. 

Pearl jumped back in surprise. She saw Saffron standing over desk, looking down blankly, both hands balled into fists. 

"What's going on?" Pearl said softly, trying to goad her. Saffron ignored her, instead stooping down to start picking things off the floor.

After a moment, Pearl joined her. And the two worked in silence for a minute, each afraid to say anything.

"Saffron...is Blue all right?" 

Saffron stopped and stared down at the floor again. She bit her lip, stroked her forearm aimlessly. She couldn't face Pearl.

"She's...she's in hospital," she finally said. 

"What happened?"

"After what happened yesterday...the Colonel...she was really shook up. I took her out for dinner, tried to distract her, tried to make her feel better. But it didn't work. She just started babbling, made a public scene, talking about all sorts of things. About how horrible the company was, about all the awful things she saw in her job, about how me and her were doing evil...It was more emotional than I'd ever seen her. It scared the bejesus out of me...Just that. Because you know her, she's never...like that 

"So I took her home and prepared her a hot bath. She usually likes those when she's feeling extra-stressed. Used the lavender soap she likes and everything! And I decided, well, I'll just try and get some reading done, I have an Ellery Queen novel to catch up on, you know? Give her some space. Let her decompress. Then when she has awhile to relax, she'll come out and her head's on straight. And then we'll be able to talk or go to bed or just... **be**.

"Except, she didn't come out. Not after half an hour, not forty-five minutes. After fifty-two minutes I got worried. I tried opening the door and...it was locked. So I had to force the door open with my shoulder..." She rubbed her shoulder as she said this, recalling the pain. "And I saw..."

She choked on her words. Pearl blanched, watching Saffron's face take on a haunted look.

"You don't want to know what I saw," she told Pearl.

Pearl just nodded; Saffron's expression was enough.

"Thank God, I made it in time...but the whole thing made me realize...I just **couldn't**."

She stood up and walked over to the window. She crossed her arms and stared for a moment. 

Pearl cautiously approached, absorbing the impact of her friend's words. Felt her shock, her pain. Her empathy for Blue. 

She wished she could tell Saffron it would be all right. But she knew she couldn't make that promise.

So she slowly went to Saffron and rest a hand on her shoulder. And Saffron's facade finally broke. She started bawling, until she turned and cried into Pearl's chest. 

"I wish I could help," Pearl muttered, holding her close. 

"I have a few things to do here before I go," Saffron said. "But maybe...she's still in hospital. Maybe you could go see her."

"Which one?"

"County General," Saffron said. "I know she'd like to see you...She thinks the world of you."

Pearl felt touched. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Oh, I can't overstate it," Saffron continued, gossipy warmth returning to her voice. "She **loves** you. She won't shut the hell  up about you! Thinks having a movie star as a coworker is the neatest thing ever! Thinks you're so humble, and down-to-earth..."

"I'm neither of those things," Pearl said. "Don't mistake self-loathing for humility." 

This made Saffron chortle. Though Pearl hadn't really meant it as a joke.

"Well..."

"I don't really have anything to do here, anyway," Pearl admitted. "I mean, Rose is...They didn't really tell me. But she's not here..."

She hoped inserting Rose into the conversation would generate a clue. But Saffron didn't say anything.

"So," Pearl said, "I suppose I could stop by at least, see how she's doing...Blue, I mean."

Saffron nodded dumbly. 

"You okay here?"

Saffron nodded again. 

"You know you can always..." Pearl began. Saffron snickered, and Pearl realized she was repeating Azuria's words from a moment ago.

"Thanks for everything, Saffron," Pearl said quietly. 

Saffron stared after her, not sure how to react. She waited until Pearl had left the room, then leaned back in her chair and stared blankly at the ceiling. 

* * *

 

Pearl emerged just in time to see a security guard dragging Aquamarine out the front door. River watched the scene unfold with a satisfied pride, ignoring the reporter's threats and profanities. 

"Well, that's _one_ less pest taken care of," River said. "Lord knows we have enough difficulties without _her_ prying into our business." 

She looked to Pearl and offered that smile again. 

"Well Miss White, thank you for coming in today. I'll be sure to get in touch with you...when Rose returns." 

Pearl nodded. River departed and stalked off into her office.

Pearl prepared to leave, then caught sight of Blanche. 

"See you later, Miss White," Blanche said. "I'll tell Rose you said hello."

Pearl bristled at the mention of her name. She turned to Blanche, face wide with shock, but didn't see anything more than the usual impassiveness, the mocking smile and sightless eye. 

Clearly, she wouldn't offer anything more than that. And Pearl wondered, now, if Blanche was deliberately mocking her. 

So Pearl sighed with frustration and stalked out of the building. 

On the steps, she saw Aquamarine, brushing the wrinkles out of her blouse. 

"I've been thrown out of much shittier places than this," Aquamarine said, to no one in particular. "At least they didn't bodily throw me out...And now I have enough confirmation..."

"Like you ever needed confirmation," Pearl growled.

Aquamarine turned and finally seemed to notice.

"My, my, look who it is!" she said, beaming. Not to mock Pearl, but rather as if spotting a long-lost friend. Which Pearl found even _more_ irritating. 

"What's a gal like you doing in a place like this?" Aquamarine asked.

"I work here," Pearl said, not relishing this conversation. She started to walk off, but Aquamarine followed after, somehow keeping pace with Pearl's long strides. 

"How interesting! The Girl with the Champagne Hair, reduced to a lowly office job! Why, but then you're leaving in the middle of the day! Off on a special mission, perhaps?"

"You could say that."

"Ooh, Pearl White, Corporate Spy! I like that, has a nice ring to it. Of course, I wonder if you're sleeping with any of the Diamonds."

Pearl didn't miss a beat. "If I were, do you think I'd tell **you**?"

"That's not a denial!" Aquamarine sing-songed.

Her childlike chirpiness finally made Pearl snap. 

"All right, you little twerp," she said, rounding on the reporter. "What the hell do you want? You ruined my fucking career, you turned my life into a joke and you made Lapis...I never wanted to see you again. Never want to talk to you again. Never want to be fucking reminded of your existence. You're lucky that I'm not beating you to death right now. So stop acting like you're my friend before I push you into traffic."

"That would be quite the story," Aquamarine said drolly. "Though not as big as the story I'm working on right now..."

"What story is that?" Pearl asked. 

"It involves murders and a couple of businesswomen you, uh, seem to know intimately." 

Pearl arched an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

"Oh, it's a typical LA story," Aquamarine said. "Business wants land and resources, business is stymied. Person doing the stymieing is killed. Business thereafter booms, and no one looks into it any further because there's a lot of money involved. Just some illustrious corpses no one seems overly concerned about." 

"Really?" Pearl repeated.

"Really. And if it involves the Diamonds, well, that's a big deal indeed. Not just Hollywood gossip and trash stories, but a real investigation."

She seemed so smug, Pearl thought, like always. All over something that she, herself, admitted was a banal scandal. And Pearl relished having the opportunity to knock her tormentor down a peg.  

"That's **all** there is?" Pearl scoffed. 

She allowed herself a snide smile, feeling that she knew something Aquamarine didn't, for a change. 

"Well, I'm still piecing the evidence together..." Aquamarine said defensively.

Pearl chuckled. "But it's just a typical LA story, like you say. Someone murdered somebody else over a business deal. Ho-hum. Who wants to read about that?"

"I suppose that's true," Aquamarine grumbled. "But if it happens to the Diamonds..."

"All that would prove is that women can engage in illegal activities as well as men. What a shock. Poor Aquamarine, chasing a story that's not half as interesting as she thinks it is. Oh well, I suppose matters of consequence should be left to **real** reporters, don't you?"

She smiled again, enjoying the hateful, defeated smirk on Aquamarine's face as she hailed a taxi.  

"Maybe someday I'll let you in on the story I'm working on right now," Pearl said. "Believe me, if you knew..."

The taxi pulled up. Pearl, feeling reinvigorated, stepped in and gave Aquamarine her best movie star wave before departing.

"Well, back to your corpses. That will be all." 

And Pearl sank into the backseat, so much enjoying her moment of triumph that she forgot to tell the driver where to go. 


	19. Messiah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: even by this story's standards, some very explicit antisemitism and discussion of fascist ideology (albeit a very weird version of it) in this chapter.

 

_"I'm not really interested in politics."_

Greg DeMayo thought about his stock phrase, uttered so many times before, as he blinked beneath his blindfold, trying to keep the scratchy fabric from scouring his eyes. He heard the man seated next to him cough violently, felt the barrel of a gun jam into his ribs. Fearing that a rut in the road would cause the pistol to go off, killing him and obviating the need for research.

 _How the hell did I get here?_ Greg asked himself. He wondered if his next project was worth dying for. 

In all his time in Hollywood, so far, he'd tried not to make waves. He didn't follow elections or campaigns, only knew the local officials he came in contact with. He barely knew who the President was, if he was honest. (It was still Roosevelt, right, not Hoover or that bore from Kansas?) 

Like most places, but more so, the movie industry divided itself into cliques based on various things: ethnic and religious backgrounds, hometowns, politics, sexual preference. There was gossip, backbiting, torrid romances and steamy affairs, sabotage of all kinds. Some were sincere artists, some were talented workers, others were just in it for fame and a few dollars. All that bound the city together was a deep, bottomless pettiness. It was like a high school, but sexier, more confusing and with little chance that you'd ever grow out of it. 

Unless, of course, you "grew out of it" like William Dudley Pelley.  

"Mr. DeMayo, we'll be there in a few minutes. Sorry about the blindfold, we're still being careful about who we let in here. We had some prick named Pagianelli out here snooping around awhile back, and it turned out he was some kind of reporter writing an expose on us. Well, fuck that. Goddamn press always snooping around for a story...I guess the damn Jews are just addicted to smearing people. Must be something in the water."

Greg subconsciously clenched his hands together; his mouth suddenly felt dry. 

"I'm glad to see another writer taking interest in our movement," the driver continued, oblivious to Greg's discomfort. "I'm sure Mr. Pelley will be, too. You know Mr. Pelley was a screenwriter, too?" 

"Yeah, I'd heard that," Greg said. 

"Of course, he found a higher calling than movies. Now he has more important things on his mind. The fate of the country, even the world."  

"Of course."

 _Seven Minutes in Eternity._ God help him, that sounded like a game kids played. Or a terrible pulp novel. And yet, it was the basis for an entire ideology - a religion, even. What a strange, fucked-up guy this Pelley must be. 

Greg tried to console himself that it would be worth it. He'd spent months researching this screenplay, reading every book, article, pamphlet and bit of rambling scrawled on a napkin that talked about groups like Pelley's.

He couldn't take the Silver Shirts seriously, no matter all he read about them. A bunch of weirdos dressed up in work shirts playing soldier in the countryside? Their leader, a failed writer who woke up one morning and decided he was God? It seemed like one huge joke.

But then, Greg thought, if it was a joke it was a strange joke. A joke with guns and knives and clubs. A joke that could kill you for looking at them funny. He remembered what had happened in New York earlier that month, and shuddered. He remembered the Black Legion trials earlier that decade...though he had to admit, the Humphrey Bogart version was more entertaining. 

He'd talked to people who'd been traumatized by these groups. A Jewish man who'd seen his shop smashed by thugs wielding clubs. A journalist whose shop and press had been bombed by toughs. Another man, who'd been attacked by Father Coughlin's friends in Boston, whose leg had been crushed to pieces by angry teenagers for no crime other than being a Jew. He'd befriended a man named Leon Lewis, an attorney who tried organizing a network of Jews within Hollywood to keep tabs on these kind of groups, to stop them when their plans grew too dangerous. And FBI agents, and police, who'd tried and failed to get their superiors to take action. 

Greg could dimly understand this, given his own background. He was old enough, just, to remember when Italian-Americans like him were wops and dagos and spaghetti snappers, filthy anarchists and criminals who wanted to steal jobs from real, hard-working Americans, not to mentioned Catholics loyal to the Pope who could never be trusted to love America. He remembered his cousin Andy getting into trouble one day, coming home from school beaten and battered after a confrontation with some obnoxious classmates who called him a wop. 

He'd heard occasional sneers and insults thrown his way over the years, remembered a cartoon his father showed him growing up, with a group of mustachioed Italian rats rushing ashore from a boat with knives and guns between their teeth. And he'd read about a lynching of Italian-Americans in New Orleans a few years before his birth...something he'd thought only happened to Negroes. 

But what spurred him on more than anything, what this all of this seem real, and important, was Rose Diamond. 

That girl...was a complete mystery to him, no matter how much he tried to understand her. And he figured that he wouldn't be here, riding along with two Nazis, if it weren't for Rose. 

They'd met at a party about two years ago. She was young and pretty, which drew him to her immediately. And rich, which didn't hurt. But Greg, a man of modest appearance and no distinguished background, didn't understand why Rose found Greg so appealing.

"I love artists," she'd said to him. "Writers especially. Means so much to express yourself with words. It's such a beautiful concept. You put your imagination onto a page and trust other people to imagine what you imagined. That's just...such a beautiful concept, don't you think?"

Her words had taken Greg aback. An  **artist**? Him? He who'd put his modest talents to work churning out potboilers and gangster pics and Westerns...an  artist?  

Well, he was no Fitzgerald or Hemingway, to his way of thinking. But he didn't mind the complement. 

And when he started plunging himself into this subject, Rose had encouraged him all along. 

She'd been the one who gave him the idea, handing him a pamphlet on the German-American Bund. And every step of the way, encouraged him to keep writing. 

"This could be an important movie, Greg!" she'd enthused. "These people are bastards who want to hurt everyone. Who want to destroy our country and turn it into something ugly. Think how many people who would never read a book or a pamphlet like these would see your movie, and get the message. Think about how much good you could do, just by writing this script!"

Greg couldn't lie - the thought went to his head. He liked the idea of influencing the masses. Of making a difference.

But, at heart, he was just a hack screenwriter. And so he tried to approach it as a thriller, _The Secret Enemy_. A simple story about a man (a writer, even!) whose friend was murdered by the Bund, or what he called the German Friendship Council, and who went undercover to try and destroy their group. He pictured a rock-jawed hero in the leading role, someone like Gary Cooper or Randolph Scott, though their conservative politics probably would disinterest them. Maybe Bogart, whose inclinations were more liberal, but who mostly played villains and gangsters and wasn't anyone's idea of a leading man. Casting was out of his hands, anyway. 

Yet no matter how much he researched it, how much he wrote and rewrote, every producer he pitched it to deemed the story too hot, too controversial. Nobody wanted to see a picture about Nazis, they told him. Too touchy. The Germans will complain, the censors won't allow it, viewers won't see it. People want to see movies to escape. Say, now if you rewrite it into another gangster picture, we'll make it without a problem! I'll bet we can get Jimmy Cagney to do it, even!

He dutifully considered their opinion, re-titling his script _The Criminal Empire_ and starting to sort through the politics and try carving them out to turn the villains into criminals. But the script was too saturated with political references; Rose's anti-fascism, he discovered, was embedded into the very fabric of the script.

And so he kept going. Kept writing it, and rewriting it, until it seemed perfect.

It never was. Nothing he wrote ever was. But it was something he'd become proud of. Something, he knew, Rose would be proud of. 

"This is the best script I've ever read," Rose assured him when he finally let her look at a draft. "Of course, it's the only script I've ever read."

"Well, that's the best complement I've ever received," Greg said dryly, meaning the latter comment. 

Rose chuckled. "Oh Greg, you don't know...You just don't know how much of a difference this will make..."

And she shook her head and sunk into a thoughtful sadness, her expression conveying secrets that she wouldn't tell anyone, even him.

Which made him more determined than ever to do right by her. To get this story right.

Which is why he was here, driving through the desert, to meet Pelley. 

But no, Greg reminded himself. He wasn't interested in politics. 

* * *

"Mr. DeMayo, I am, of course, familiar with your work. You've made a number of excellent films in a variety of genres. I myself have dabbled in the field, you know. Lon Chaney and I were close friends. Made one of his best pictures, _The Shock_ , based on one of my stories. Of course, they changed a lot because that's what you do in Hollywood. Sometimes I think about giving all of this up and going back to Hollywood. But then, I remind myself that i have a higher calling." 

The room looked like an ordinary summer cabin or lodge, wood-paneled and relatively sparse. Some pictures of Pelley with friends, family and associates, a poster of the movie he'd just mentioned. Some of his publications framed or in glass. An autographed photograph of Adolf Hitler, of course, received pride of place next to an American flag. And an armed guard, wearing the Legion's outfit - a silver shirt emblazoned with an L - stood behind Greg. 

Amidst it, looking less like a messiah than a businessman or stockbroker on vacation, sat William Dudley Pelley. He wore a dark tweed suit, his silver hair slicked back and his facial hair trimmed into a neat goatee. His expression seemed more amused than messianic, his eyes full of a playful, knowing humor as he spoke with Greg. 

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

Greg fished around in his mind, trying to remember which excuse he'd settled on. He decided to tell the truth, at least a version of the truth which wouldn't result in his head being blown off. 

"Well, sir, it's funny," he said, clearing his throat. "I wanted to write a script about your movement. The problem is, and I'm sure you'll agree, there is so much garbage and lies and sensationalism about the Silver Legion and what it means that I feared getting a distorted picture just from, ya know, reading what's out there. So, I thought I'd go straight to the horse's mouth."

Pelley arched an eyebrow. "Indeed? Very smart man, Mr. DeMayo. Of course, you know Hollywood doesn't place a premium on truth. They're about telling stories, and the more sensational, the better. So I don't know if an, erm, strictly factual approach to my philosophy would sell pictures."

"Well, it doesn't need to be strictly factual. Just enough facts to, erm, keep it grounded in reality."

"Understandable. What's the plot?"

"Hmm?"

Greg didn't expect that question. Maybe he should have, knowing Pelley's background.

"Well, there's got to be a story. What are my boys doing?"

"Well..." Greg scratched his head. He looked at the guard, whose emotionless, fleshy face offered no help. Then back at Pelley, who leaned forward, hands folded, eagerly awaiting his story.

Christ...of everything he expected, or feared, from today, he didn't expect to be making a _pitch_. 

"Well..." Greg repeated, trying to sort through the plot points in a way that wouldn't offend his host.

He was a terrible liar. But it would be hard to describe his story without giving the game away. 

"Well, erm, funny thing. I started writing it as a gangster story, you know. Guy's brother gets gunned down by some criminals and he infiltrates the gang to destroy them and get revenge. You know, it's been done before, but...I mean, that just means that it sells."

Pelley nodded, inexpressive. 

"There's never been a premium on originality in Hollywood, as you know..."

Pelley allowed a knowing smirk to cross his face. It put Greg at ease, just a little bit. 

"Well, anyway," he continued. "I came across an article about your group and something clicked. I thought, hey, here's a guy who's a member of this Silver Legion and his friend is killed by a mysterious cabal. And so he decides to track down the cabal and eradicate them from the inside out, you know? And he gets help from his Silver Shirt friends...So a familiar story, but with a twist." 

"Who is the cabal?"

"Well, I'm not..." 

"Jews?"

The bluntness froze Greg's blood. He didn't respond. 

"Well, you're never going to sell a script about evil, murderous Jews in Hollywood," Pelley lectured. "Maybe try that at UFA, Doctor Goebbels would love that. But Americans aren't quite ready for anything so...explicit." 

"Well yeah," Greg admitted, feeling a bit disgusted about even having this conversation. "I mean, that's why I'm not sure. I was trying to think of a way to make it...presentable, you know. Get it past the censors. Find a villain that's not so, you know, touchy."

Which was true enough - Greg had described his whole dilemma with this script in a nutshell. Just in a way that obscured what he actually wrote about. 

Pelley considered this and nodded. He leaned back and thought about it for a moment.

"Hmm. Well, I don't know if you're going about it the right way. I mean, for one thing, where do the Silver Shirts come in? What does it matter that this man, your hero, is a Silver Shirt? Will your audience know who we are and what we do? Will it have any bearing on the plot? Will the ideology of the group and this man have any importance, receive any explanation?" 

"Well..."

"The people view us as you did, Mr. DeMayo," Pelley said. "Through a distorted lens of slime and vitriol spewed out by the Zionist press. You can't assume that the people will know about us without some explanation."

Greg nodded along, though inside he was screaming at himself for putting himself in this situation. 

 _Do it for her,_ he thought, keeping an image of Rose in the back of his mind. 

"Which is why I'm here," Greg said. "I'd like a better understanding of what you stand for."

Pelley nodded. "That could take a few hours," he said. "Maybe you'd like to read some of my books..."

"I've already read _Seven Minutes in Eternity_ ," Greg confirmed. 

"Good, so you've had a start. You know about the Master Minds?"

"Yes, the...consciousness that inform humanity?"

"More than inform, direct," Pelley corrected. "Otherworldly beings of great intellect and boundless wisdom, who assign human minds and souls to deserving vessels. Deserving vessels who lead and direct the human race according to the dictates of God and destroy lesser races and beings who would pollute and distort His message. Let's say that this man, the hero of your movie, is one of the anointed ones and he goes amidst his enemies to either enlighten or smite them."

Now Pelley stood up from his chair and started pacing around the room, deep in thought. 

"Of course, if the enemies are explicitly Jews, that removes the tension, so maybe they could be..."

He snapped his fingers.

"Gangsters, perhaps? Like you said."

"I wouldn't have to change my script too much," Greg admitted. 

"Yes, but that's too easy...Maybe Communists, or radicals? No, that would still upset too many people...If your picture doesn't get made, it can't have any impact."

"I couldn't agree more," Greg said, intrigued to watch this weird old man acting like him trying to convince Jack Warner to buy his latest idea.

"I have an interesting idea. How about the _Silver Legion_ are the ones who kill this man's friend?"  

Greg felt something catch in his throat.

"Umm...excuse me?"

"Yes! What a clever idea!" Pelley congratulated himself. Greg noticed his eyes becoming animated with a strange fire. 

"The Legion kills this man's friend, and he tries to figure out why. So he joins the group, intending to get revenge. Only he's exposed to the ideas of the Legion, and realizes that they make perfect sense. That they're beautiful and real and pure. That they're doing the Lord's work. And that he, in fact, is one of the Master Minds. And the film ends with him realizing that this man he thought was his friend was actually...well, we can't call him a Jew, can we? Pity.

"Well, you'll think of something, it's your script. Maybe he was just some common criminal. But either way, he achieves this revelation just in time to embrace the Change that's about to overtake his city...about to overtake the world. Cue heavenly choir and glowing key lights, end scene!"

Greg's head spun. Because that was almost exactly his idea, except, you know, the doing the Lord's work bit.

"You've...certainly given me a lot to think about," Greg said. "I appreciate your thoughts."

"No problem," Pelley said, crossing the room towards Greg. Greg stood warily and shook his hand. 

"Please feel free to forward me a copy of your script when you're ready," Pelley said. "I'm most eager to read it. And, of course, if you have any further questions about our movement..."

 _Not in a million years, pal,_ Greg thought to himself. He just wanted out of there. 

"...It will be a useful, timely project, especially if things go according to plan."

"Oh?" Greg asked.

"Well, you know that the German-American Bund will be in town this weekend," Pelley said. "Of course, I don't like that crowd very much...far too _violent_ for my taste. I suppose you need to be violent sometimes, especially when you're dealing with...well. But not in that way.

"But maybe a film like yours will provide a useful to contrast our movement with those people...I hear Jack Warner's planning to make a film about the Bund, if it ever gets made. And not a flattering one, either. A counter film about the Silver Shirts could...properly educate the people. Especially..."  

Pelley trailed off, stopping himself from saying more. Instead, he just smiled and gestured for his aide to show Greg the door. 

Greg exited the Messiah's study, watching him sit back at his desk until the door closed. 

"This way," the guard said, gesturing to him. 

Greg followed obediently. Another uniformed man marched past him, into a side room.

Greg leaned down the hallway and caught a glimpse of...it looked like a map of the city?

He didn't see enough of it to fully comprehend. But it clicked with Pelley's words a moment before.

"Come on," the guard insisted, taking Greg by the arm. 

Greg tried to look around the compound, seeing a small collection of Silver Shirts, some armed, mostly standing around without any clear purpose. There was a small shooting range off to the right, with some shattered targets standing amidst the scrub land. A few cabins, which Greg imagined housed Pelley's men. Two men walked past carrying a large box of...something. 

The guard shoved Greg back into the car and wrapped the blindfold around his eyes. He tried to process everything he'd seen, hoping he could make some sense of it. If not in script form,

But as the car's engine started, he felt that there was more here that he didn't understand.

* * *

Greg finally made it home a few hours later, dropped unceremoniously at a restaurant which had been the assigned meeting place. He stayed there for awhile, munching absently on a sandwich, looking at a newspaper headline. Two more deaths, a fear of an epidemic, and a new man named McDonald appointed to the Power and Water's Board of Directors. More rumblings from Europe, arcane arguments over agricultural policy and economics that smudged together in Greg's mind.

He didn't really want to think. Instead, he walked to his house, hoping to write down some of what he'd seen, some of what Pelley had said to him, before it slipped his mind. Maybe start piecing some things together. Maybe call Rose.

 _Definitely_ call Rose. They hadn't seen each other in a week, hadn't even talked in days. And she'd certainly want to know this. Enough that she might even want to leave work to deal with whatever was going on. 

Then he looked up and saw Rose's friend Amethyst standing outside his door. Her arms were crossed, her normally buoyant expression humorless and grim. Greg spotted a pistol sticking from her belt. 

"Greg, Rose is in trouble," she said. "We need your help." 

 _No,_ Greg reminded himself as he led Amethyst inside, _I'm not interested in politics._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fair amount of notes in this chapter. Besides Pelley, whom we've already discussed (and yes, his ideology is every bit as insane as is detailed here): 
> 
> The anti-Italian cartoon Greg references can be seen here: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:The_Unrestricted_Dumping-Ground._Louis_Dalrymple.jpg And sadly, the mass lynching of Italians in New Orleans was a real historical event, occurring in 1891. https://www.buzzfeed.com/adamserwer/how-an-1891-mass-lynching-tried-to-make-america-great-again 
> 
> Leon Lewis was a Jewish-American attorney and former intelligence officer who lived in Los Angeles in the '30s and '40s. Frustrated by the unwillingness of local authorities to stand up to groups like the Silver Shirts and the German-American Bund, he organized an informal Jewish spy network to infiltrate, expose and undermine these groups before they could do harm. Steven J. Ross's recent book, Hitler in Los Angeles (2017), discusses Lewis's efforts in engrossing detail. Read an interview with the author here: https://www.nytimes.com/2017/10/29/books/review/tell-us-5-things-about-your-book-hitler-in-los-angeles.html
> 
> Robert Pagianelli was the alias of Arthur Derounian, an Armenian-American journalist who spent several years investigating far-right and pro-Nazi groups in the United States. He compiled his research into Under Cover: My Four Years in the Nazi Underworld of America (1943), published under his pen name John Roy Carlson. This story would have been set before Derounian's investigation began, but I wanted to include a shoutout to him because his book is one of the touchstones for my research, especially this column discussing his work: https://the-avocado.org/2018/08/18/how-we-got-here-how-to-fight-fascists/. 
> 
> The other movie Pelley mentions is Anatole Litvak's Confessions of a Nazi Spy (1939), starring Edward G. Robinson and George Sanders, released shortly after the events of this story. It received heavy pressure from German diplomats, studio heads and conservative censors as a "hate film," and there were rumors that pro-fascist groups in Hollywood tried to sabotage its product. Nonetheless, it became the first major studio film to openly criticize Nazi Germany. http://www.tcm.com/tcmdb/title/613/Confessions-of-a-Nazi-Spy/notes.html


	20. Daffodils

Pearl hated hospitals, and this one wasn't any different. The walls were an off-putting white-gray, the paint visibly chipped. There were few decorations or accents to make the place more appealing, only an occasional photograph of the hospital's doctors or directors. She could spy bouquets of flowers when doors were opened, the flash of red on nurse's outfits. Otherwise, drab, dull and uninviting, accented by the thick, deadening chlorine smell and the whispered voices echoing through the empty building. 

Pearl carried a small bouquet of daffodils, which Saffron assured Blue were her favorite flowers. After waiting several minutes, a heavyset nurse showed Pearl to the room where Blue was being kept. 

Pearl blanched at the sight of her friend. Blue looked pale and limp, like a rag someone had wrung out. Her eyes were creased with bags, her skin flushed, her hair a mess. She barely moved her head to acknowledge Pearl. But she did manage to smile at the sight of her friend.

"Pearl," she said in a weak voice. 

Pearl nodded, unsmiling. "How are you doing, Blue?"

"Well, I'm still here," Blue said flatly. Neither happy nor sad, just a dull, boring fact stated without inflection.

"I'm glad," Pearl assured her. 

She gestured towards her flowers. 

"Oh, stars, thank you! Saffron must have told you..."

Pearl just nodded. "Umm, where should I put these?"

"I don't have a vase or anything," Blue said. "Maybe we could ask the nurse...well, put them here for now."

She gestured at the table beside her bed. Pearl obliged, opening the blinds slightly to reveal an overcast sky.

Pearl stood by the window for a moment, fidgeting, uncertain what to say, how to engage Blue. She looked over at a chair across the room, wanting to sit there. Instead, she walked over.

"You gave us quite a scare." She meant it playfully, but Pearl regretted it instantly; the words came off as scolding. 

"I'm sorry." 

Pearl remained silent, trying to be more careful. She sat down on the end of Blue's bed, clasped her hand and smiled. 

"Do you know how long you're gonna be here, Blue?" 

"Well...they said after the transfusions...They're waiting for my blood levels and heart rate to stabilize. They want to watch out for me until I'm back to full health. And they're a little afraid about sending me home." 

"Well, I'm sure they're just taking precautions," Pearl said.

"I hope you're right," Blue said. "I don't really have anyone right now other than Saffron...and I don't know if they'd consider her a guardian or caretaker."

"Probably not," Pearl said bitterly. 

"Well, yeah, but I know what happens when...women do things like that," Blue said. 

Pearl winced at every word, a little afraid to think about it.

"I know Saffron would fight tooth and nail to keep me from going into a sanitarium," Blue continued. "She wouldn't even think of something that would keep us apart for that long. But I know there are other things they can do, too. I heard one of the doctors discussing a lobotomy in the other room..."

Pearl froze. 

She dimly remembered hearing about that cure. Might have read about it in a medical journal, or a snippet of conversation at a cocktail party. One of those miracle cures that worked by boring into their brain and obliterating a person's emotions, consciousness, their essential being. Rendering them an emotionless sack of meat, compliant and obedient and, most of all, quiet and untroubled by any problems that made others uncomfortable. 

Of course _men_ would think that's a miracle cure, Pearl thought bitterly. God forbid you actually try understanding what someone might be going through. Especially a woman, who was there to look pretty and...

Well, Pearl had been through that enough to understand it. 

"...Anyway, I appreciate the flowers, Pearl," Blue said. She paused for a moment, deep in thought.

"Pearl, could I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Why did you come to the Diamond Company?"

It blindsided Pearl.

"What do you mean?" she asked, not able to conjure a plausible lie. 

"Well, I know what you told us, but...you could have worked anywhere. Even if your career had been ruined...There were a million things you could do, and I'm sure working as a secretary for a company like ours wasn't exactly your dream job." 

"It certainly wasn't," Pearl admitted. "I thought it might be fun to..."

But she let it trail off. Blue pulled her hand out of Pearl's grasp. 

"I'm sure you didn't expect what you've stumbled into, huh?"

Pearl perked up at that, a hint dancing at the edge of confession.

"I hoped it wouldn't be as unpleasant," Pearl admitted, guarded. 

"Well, it's not your fault," Blue said, starting to fidget with the petals on one of the daffodils. "You couldn't have known what was going on here. What kind of monsters the Diamonds are...and what kind of friends they have."

She regarded the petal thoughtfully, ignoring Pearl for a long moment.

Pearl heard the sound of raindrops starting to plunk off the window. 

"Or did you?"

The accusation cut through the air. Pearl blushed and fidgeted, but didn't say anything.

"You're not that good an actress, Pearl," Blue said. "Not as good as you are in movies, anyway. I know you joined us for a reason. And maybe that reason is, you knew full well what you were getting into."

"What makes you say that?" Pearl asked. She kept her voice even, assuming (or at least hoping) that Blue didn't hold this against her. 

"I know you're someone who's hiding things. Take it from me, I know more about that than anything. You're better off than me, though. No matter what, I can't hide these..." And she gestured towards her eyes, making Pearl flinch. "There's no amount of surgery or bushy haircuts that make that go away. And I know the stories about..."

"Blue," Pearl said, grasping her hand again. 

"It's all right, I understand. I mean, I think you know me well-enough to know that I wouldn't hold that against you." Blue smiled, regarding Pearl. 

"You're so beautiful."

Pearl blushed again at the complement, which seemed out of place. 

"Not as beautiful as you."

"On the outside, maybe," Blue said, her voice almost a pout. She lowered her head back into the pillow and thought.

The rain started coming down heavier outside, streaking against the window. Pearl sat there, unable to think of words. 

"When Saffron and I first met...I was here before she was," Blue said. "She was sort of...like you. She felt she had to hide who she was, the fact that she liked...people that she wasn't allowed to like. She tells that story about getting fired, but I've always thought...always wondered if she was fired because of who she is."

"It wouldn't surprise me," Pearl affirmed. 

"Yeah. I never really hid it, but then I never had to. Never met anyone who...Well..."

"And she was _so_ obnoxious when I first met her!" Blue said, the tone in her voice changing. "Saffron, I mean. So aloof and snotty. I mean, worse than she is now. She didn't seem to want anything to do with me, aside from the bare minimum that was necessary. And at first, I didn't bother trying to make friends with her. I didn't need anyone like that in my life.

"But after awhile...I started getting the sense that she was comfortable around me. Something changed. She let her guard down. She started asking me personal questions and talking to me about books and movies. We started spending time together outside of work. We even went on a double date with two men she knew. But who were we kidding! We were there for each other.

"And then, one day, somehow...somehow it clicked. We both knew."

Pearl nodded.

"I don't even remember the specific day. I wish I did, it would be nice to pin it down for anniversary purposes. But I do remember the moment. We were just making small talk in the break room at lunch, and she laughed at a joke I made. And the light caught her face and her hair just right, and her expression was...joy.

"And her perfume that day...I remember **that** , most of all. With her hair all golden and done up like that, and the smell, she looked like a daffodil."

Pearl took a glance over at the flowers, watching Blue twisting one of them playful by the stem, staring wistfully. 

"Well," Blue interrupted herself. "We moved in together a few weeks after that. And ever since, well, we barely try to hide it any more."

"That's very brave of you," Pearl conceded. "Being honest with yourselves."

"We don't advertise it," Blue admitted. "But I think anyone who spends time with us would know. We're bad at keeping secrets." She allowed a small smile. 

"All evidence to the contrary," Pearl said, returning the smile.  

"Have you ever loved anyone?" Blue asked. "Sorry for the gossip, I just thought..." 

"Oh!" Pearl said breezily. "Well, it depends on what you mean by love. I've...had relations with a number of women. And one or two men, though...they didn't mean anything. Some of them were special. Some were just flings. I don't know about love, as in someone I really wanted to be with." 

"Ahh." Blue said. "Hollywood stuff."

"Sort of," Pearl admitted. "It's a good place to be a lesbian. As long as you're discreet." 

"Hmm."

"Well...there was one special person," Pearl said thoughtfully. "There was a girl who came to L.A. looking for a singing career. She was young and fresh and had stars in her eyes, just like me when I first got here. And part of me thought, honey, you have a lot to learn about the city. But then I thought, maybe I can be the one to teach her. To help her.

"It was that kind of relationship, I guess. I was older than her, and more experienced. But she was extremely talented. Had the voice of an angel. Deserved to be big. Bigger than me, even. And she might have been if not...well, if certain people hadn't been set on ruining her life." 

Blue seemed to know who Pearl was talking about. 

"I don't know if that was love, exactly," Pearl admitted. "But it was something...And I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss it." 

"So...whatever you're doing...or why you're doing it..." Blue measured her words, trying not to seem accusatory.

"Thank you." 

This took Pearl by surprise. 

"There's nothing to thank me for," she told Blue.

"I would disagree. Having the courage to stop the Diamonds is enough. You know how powerful they are...All the connections they have." 

"I have connections, too," Pearl assured her. "Some closer than you might think."

"Rose?"

"Erm..." Pearl froze, again unsure whether to admit it.

"A girl can always tell," Blue said shyly. 

"Well, she is an amazing woman," Pearl admitted, not wanting to reveal too much detail. "But I think it's...more than that. I think she's a good person, and I have no idea how she could be mixed up with..."

"You can't choose your family," Blue said.

Pearl thought again to her dream, and the image of her mother's face, dead. 

"Guess not," she muttered.  

"Anyway...I'm gonna ask Saffron to bring me something that might help pass the time."

"Oh?"

"My sketchbook."

"You draw?"

"Oh yes! It's my favorite hobby," Blue said, becoming animated. "Not often from life, though. Usually movie stars and public figures, things like that. I love drawing Errol Flynn, I don't know why but his figure's so striking. And different politicians I see in the newsreels - I have a dozen of the President! And some still lifes and..."

"How many of me?" Pearl meant it as a joke, but she was genuinely curious.

"One or two," Blue admitted. It was her turn to blush, and Pearl felt relieved watching the color return to her face. 

"Well, when we get out of this mess," Pearl said, "I'll let you draw me from life."

Blue just nodded and clasped Pearl's hand. "That would be swell."

"You deserve nothing less," Pearl told her. 

The two women stared wistfully at each other, deeply appreciating each other's company. 

"I'm glad I'm still here," Blue said.

"So am I." 

Pearl when she heard familiar voices down the hall. A harsh, nasal voice in argument with someone. A male voice barking orders. 

Then a burst of gunshots, followed by screams. 

"Blue, stay here," Pearl ordered. Then she bounded into the hall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lobotomies had been invented as early as 1935, though they didn't peak in popularity until the late '40s. I'm not sure how popular they were at the time of this story (1939) but since it's in the realm of possibility I'm using it here.


	21. Safe

Lapis Lazuli woke up. She didn't expect that to happen.

It took her a moment to realize where she was. The bland cream-colored walls, the heavy smell of chloroform. The flowers at the bedside table.

Fuck.

She was in hospital. 

_How did I get here?_

She tried sitting up and felt a stabbing pain in her chest. _That_ refreshed her memory. 

The last thing she remembered was sitting in the car, with Malachite saying something that...honestly, she couldn't remember. Malachite was a piece of shit, anyway, always jabbing her with insults, it didn't really matter.

She hadn't noticed the stiletto piercing her heart until it was too late. It felt, at first, like a hypodermic needle - a mild jab enough to notice, but not really to cause pain. She wondered, fleetingly, if a bug had bitten her. 

Then she looked down, and saw the blood spreading across her outfit. Then there was no question what had occurred.  

She cried out and lurched towards the car door, trying to force it open with her shoulder. 

She'd caught a quick glance of Malachite, his green eyes wild with hate, blood dripping off the tip of his weapon. It was the most horrifying sight Lapis ever experienced, which was saying something.

Fortunately, the door wasn't locked, and Lapis tumbled into the scrub. She landed on her hands, started pushing up, then felt the warm rush of blood flowing over her chest.

She heard shouts - possibly Jasper, possibly Malachite. Probably both. She couldn't make out the words. Probably, they didn't matter.

The blood started to puddle against the inside of her blouse, weighing it down. It felt like iron, weighing her down as well, as the energy drained out of her. 

She didn't try to fight. The stabs of consciousness were fleeting irritations. Reminders that it wouldn't be so easy to die.

But she was fully ready. Remembering a lifetime of misery. Remembering what she'd done to Peridot not long ago. 

She could have sworn she heard a gunshot before she blacked out. But by then, it didn't matter. 

* * *

"You are very lucky, Lazuli. They said it's a million-to-one chance that you lived. If they'd used a knife instead of a stiletto, if you'd sneezed the wrong way it would have entered your heart at a different angle and you'd be dead. No clue why they didn't just shoot you in the head, but I guess it doesn't pay to ask questions like that, huh?"

Peridot sat on the edge of Lapis's bed, not looking at her as she spoke. She'd removed the bandage from her nose, revealing a few stitches and a flaking scab. Her hand trembled from nicotine withdraw, or possibly impatience, and pulled at Lapis's sheets.

Her voice seemed the same as it generally did - terse, unemotional. But the fact that she wouldn't look at Lapis unnerved her deeply. Not that she could blame her.

She shrunk away from Peridot, her back pressed against the thin hospital pillow. 

"I'm glad you're okay," she managed.

"Hmm." 

Another pause, silence.

"Do you know who found me?" Lapis asked. 

"No clue. Someone dropped you off here just before dawn. Found you out in the desert, completely covered in blood. They changed you, patched up the injury, and...well, maybe your doc can tell you more. That's about all I know."

Lapis jogged her mind, trying to think who might have saved her.

Maybe it was Jasper? That would explain the argument and perhaps the gunshot she remembered.

But, she thought, that wouldn't be at all like Jasper, who seemed to regard her mostly as a whore. 

It wouldn't be Malachite. Unless he'd have some reason for keeping her alive. And what that would be after he stabbed her in the heart...Lapis couldn't even pretend to understand. 

Maybe it was the police? A friendly motorist? A sightseer? Peridot herself? 

Did it really matter? 

"Can I ask...?" Lapis said hesitantly. "Why are you here?" 

For the longest time, Peridot didn't answer; her fingers played more frantically against the side of the bed. 

Finally, she said:

"Because you're alive." 

That didn't really answer anything. 

"I read the note you left me," Peridot confirmed.

Lapis, for the life of her, couldn't remember what she was talking about. So she said nothing.  

Until Peridot pulled the letter out from her vest. 

"Peridot," its recipient read. "I'm sorry. If you're reading this, you're alive and I'm probably dead. Both things are probably for the best. Whatever happens, don't stop doing what you're doing. The Diamonds, Jasper and the rest of them need to be stopped. You and Pearl don't realize how important it is. Signed, Lapis Lazuli."

She put the letter down on the bed and regarded it. 

"Nice handwriting," Peridot said, gesturing towards her signature. "Very loose-flowing and romantic. You must have spent years practicing that signature. Hoping it would be worth millions when you made it big." 

"Nothing you say can make me feel worse than I already do," Lapis said lamely. Which wasn't true.

"It's a bit fancy a signature for a common whore," Peridot said. 

Lapis felt tears starting to well up in her eyes. Part of her wanted to reach across the bed and smack some sense into Peridot, part of her just wanted to collapse. She struggled to keep it together. 

"Do you have anything else than what you've already told me?" Peridot asked. "Any more documents, hard evidence?"

Lapis tried to think of something. Hoped that she was overlooking something in her memory. So that this wouldn't be it. 

She shook her head. 

"Are you willing to testify publicly, if it comes to that?" 

Lapis thought about it, then managed to croak:

"It won't."

Peridot considered this and nodded, knowing that she was probably right. There were too many people who'd try and cover something like this up. 

She stared thoughtfully at the far wall for a moment, then finally looked Lapis in the eye. 

As she spoke, her voice remained flat and affectless. But her look was as cold and hate-filled as anything she'd seen from Malachite.  

"Well then, Lazuli, you're nothing to me. Not a friend, not a lover, not even an informer. Just a dirty, used up whore-" _that_ word again - "whom I allowed to sucker me. You'd think I'd learn after all these years, that a pretty face and a nice figure were cause for trouble in my business. But, then I'd never made the acquaintance of Lapis Lazuli before."

Her voice finally took on some emotion, even if it was a snide, sarcastic sneer. Enough to make Lapis crumble. 

"Anyway...I've arranged for a police guard just in case your friends decide to show up. So, you'll be safe so long as you're here. After that, you're on your own."

She stood up and walked out of the room, struggling to contain her hurt. 

"Peridot..." Lapis sputtered, channeling a million confused, anguished emotions into the detective's name.

Peridot stopped for just a moment, then stalked into the hallway, reaching into her pockets.  

* * *

"She doin' okay?" the officer on duty, a tall young cop named Nichols, asked as Peridot closed the door. 

"As okay as she's gonna be," Peridot said blankly. She pulled out a matchbox and started tearing at the edges. 

"You want a smoke?"

"No."

"Come on, I've seen enough people takin' a break from smoking act like that," the officer chuckled, with the slight twang of an Okie. "You ain't subtle. Besides, with your honker the way it was..."

"I said, no, thank you."

Peridot didn't feel like arguing. She _did_ desperately want a cigarette, but that was neither here nor there just now.  

She knew she was taking a risk coming here, let alone calling in favors to guard Lazuli. And she wasn't entirely sure how to feel.

Not because Lazuli had taken her the night before. Not even, so much, setting her up to die. That part, she'd been through enough times not to especially mind.

But she'd thought, if only for a moment, that there was something different about Lapis Lazuli. Someone who was wronged by the world and wanted, however belatedly, to make things right.

 _Well, that's how all of them see themselves_ , Peridot told herself, tearing the matchbook into bits, then tossing the pieces on the floor. _They're all innocents. They've all been wronged. It's never their fault, none of them. They do the most horrific fucking things and act like it's beyond their control._

_Well, fuck that. This one was just more convincing._

She sighed, bending down to collect the pieces of matchbook the before a nurse came along and scolded her. Then she walked past the front desk, ignoring the gaze of the receptionist, and went to a payphone at the edge of the lobby. Plunked in her nickels, and waited for the line to connect.  

"Los Angeles Jewish League," a voice answered.  

"Hey Zircon," Peridot muttered. 

"Peridot?" 

"Yeah, it's me. Any luck getting that injunction?"

"Sadly, no. The hate rally's still scheduled for tomorrow, and the judge won't hear my appeal again..."

"Well, I have something that might be interesting to you...very interesting. Only, I would rather not talk about it over the phone."

"What is it?"

"Let's just say we're gonna make use of that special safe we talked about, huh?" 

The line went quiet for a moment,

"Holy Moses," Zircon muttered.

"Yeah."

"That big a deal?'

"That big."

"Are you in danger?"

"I **was** in danger. I might be again in the future. Right now, I'm fit as a fiddle."

"That's not exactly reassuring."

"It's not meant to be. Can I meet you at your office? Would that be all right?"

The attorney sighed. "Fine. I'm meeting with Mr. Lewis at 1:00 but we should be done around 2:30 or 3:00. I assume this isn't something you'd feel comfortable giving to my assistant."

"What gave you **that** idea?"

"Don't be a smartass. If your ass is on the line, my entire religion's trying not to be wiped out here."

"Either way, it sounds like we'll both be dead. Okay, 3:00."

"Fine. Oh, and Peridot?"

"Yeah?"

"Stay out of trouble. If that's possible."

Peridot hung up the receiver without answering. She sighed, more than a little irritated at her conversation. Worrying about the incriminating documents she had in her car, where anyone with a lock pick could get at them. 

She'd barely taken a step when she heard the conversation at the front desk. Saw a tall, well-built man in a dark coat and fedora conversing with the receptionist.

"...We don't usually give out those kind of records without a written request..."

"Honey, if it's all the same I'd rather cut through the red tape."

"That's not an option, sir. You'll have to go through..."

The man leaned menacingly across the front desk. His voice was just above a whisper, but dripping with menace.  

"I don't think you'd want it to get out that there are people in this hospital dying of infectious disease. More than's being talked about in the papers. More than the city's willing to admit. And it doesn't have to get out. All you need to do is hand over the files and we'll be sure they're properly dealt with it."

"Sir, unless you're with the city government..."

Peridot had to admire the pluck of the little receptionist, a small girl in her thirties who clearly wasn't having any of her aggressor's guff. More to the point, though...the conversation seemed ominous enough to pique her interest. 

Against her better judgment, Peridot moved closer. She discretely reached into her vest and removed the catch on her revolver. 

"You can speak with the head of the Infectious Disease Wing," the receptionist said, more annoyed than intimidated. "But I'm sure Doctor Murray will tell you the same thing..."

"Then let's not bother with Dr. Murray, huh, sweetheart."

Peridot grew close enough to see his pale, lean face, full of meanness. The kind of face Peridot instantly recognized from Chicago. 

"Hey pal, you wanna stop giving the lady a hard time?" Peridot said.

The man turned his head, then locked eyes with Peridot and startled for a moment. 

"Peridot Mulwray?" he asked. 

"Bingo."

The man shook his head for a moment, then chuckled. 

"You're still alive." 

"Last time I checked."

"Of course you are. Should have known that..." He cut himself off, looked down the hall.

Peridot followed his gaze, instantly recognizing what was going on.

Shit.  

"Haven't you already gotten yourself deep enough into this?" he snarled, more teasing than threatening. 

"That's for me to judge," Peridot said.

"If you were smart, you woulda backed away a long time ago."  

"Nobody said I was smart," Peridot said, gesturing to her nose. A prideful grin crossed her face, which seemed to trigger the man's rage.  

"You fucking dyke!" he growled. 

The man pushed away from the desk and took a step towards Peridot. 

"Shoulda guessed Jasper wouldn't have been tough enough on you. You ladies never have the gumption to go through with anything violent. Need a man to finish the job for you."

"I'm guessing it wasn't her who turned my apartment into a shooting gallery," Peridot said.

The man smirked. "Well..."

He reached into his jacket and brandished a silver-plated pistol. The receptionist's eyes went wide, but she didn't scream.

"I hope you're better with that than your Chicago typewriter," Peridot said. Then she added, twisting the night with a smirk. "Or a stiletto." 

The man reacted to that with a sneer, and by cocking his gun. 

Peridot tried to sound nonplussed, but felt sweat under her arms and between her legs. And though her hand crept along the front of her vest, she cursed herself, knowing that she couldn't reach her revolver without the man plugging her first.  

"All right, pal, put it away."

Peridot turned and saw Officer Nichols aiming a revolver at the man. Another nurse screamed and rushed out of the way. The receptionist still hadn't moved. 

 

The man raised his hands. "Easy, flatfoot."

"Flatfoot my ass. Drop the gun."

"Look, pal..." the man began.

"No palling with me, asshole. Drop it! Now!"

The man looked at the officer, then at Peridot, and winked.

Then he snapped his hand forward and emptied his gun into the officer's chest. Several bystanders screamed; the receptionist, finally, ducked. 

Peridot watched Nichols sway backwards, leaning against the wall. At least five rounds had struck him, dark crimson splattering his uniform.

He seemed alive for a moment, balancing himself and aiming his gun, but his eyes were wide and his mouth open in shock. After a moment he fired a round harmlessly into the wall, and sank to the ground, a slick trail of blood on the wall behind him. 

The man hurriedly ejected the empty clip as Peridot watched, frozen in terror, forcing herself into action.  

 _Well, Peridot, this is your chance_ , the detective told herself, reaching for her revolver.

She felt a drop of sweat roll down her arm and splash onto the butt of her weapon.

She began drawing it, as quickly as she could. But the long barrel seemed endless, the gun itself heavier than it had ever felt. She seemed to be moving in slow motion. 

Despite her bravado, she'd only killed a man once, and that was in a much different situation than this. Much closer, more intimate, where she could hardly miss. 

Finally, she drew the revolver. And pulled back the hammer, aiming it just as the man snapped a fresh magazine into his weapon. 

She squeezed her fingers, waiting for the trigger to fire. 

 

 


	22. Blood on the Marble Floor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: graphic violence and major character death

Pearl reached the lobby in time to see Peridot and Malachite fire simultaneously.

She stood transfixed for a moment, watching the gray smoke hovering between them, catching a whiff with her nose. The smell reminded her again of her dream. And her ear buzzed with the echoes of the gunshots.

Then she snapped out of her daze. She saw Malachite staggered back against the desk, dazed and bleeding, his gun on the floor.

Then she turned to see Peridot, on the ground, her blood spreading across the marble floor. 

The sight of her friend on the ground like that snapped something in Pearl's brain.

She didn't even have time to feel sad, or shocked, or scared. She'd been feeling those emotions too much in the past few weeks. She'd already seen too many people hurt.

Blue. Rose. Derek Bronstein. Now Peridot.

Too much.

Instead, she rushed forward with a cry. And tackled Malachite against the front desk.

He grunted in surprise, and pain, as Pearl put the full force of her body against him. It wasn't much; under ordinary circumstances, Malachite could probably have overpowered her with one hand. But with him gushing blood and her mainlining adrenaline, it was a different story.

"All right, you bastard," Pearl said, trying to twist the man's arm behind his back. "That's enough."

"What's this?" Malachite cried out. "Another dyke, huh? You gals all in some kind of gang together?"

His eyes flickered to the floor, towards his gun. Pearl saw it, then kneed him in the kidneys, causing him to scream in pain. Then she reached a leg over and kicked the weapon out of reach.

"You work for the Diamonds?"

The man didn't say anything. He kept struggling, and Pearl felt her grip starting to slip away.

Then she looked over at Peridot, just briefly, and she slammed him down again.

"I said are you working for the Diamonds? Talk, you son of a bitch."

"What's a Diamond?" he asked.

"Don't be cute."

"Honey, I was born this way."

This wasn't working. Pearl looked around the desk, saw a pen and grabbed it.

After a moment's hesitation, she loosened her grip on Malachite, and jabbed the pen into his gunshot wound.

The gangster howled in pain and collapsed to his knees.

It made Pearl sick to do it. She felt a wave of nausea, of revulsion. Not at the blood, not at the man's pain, but at herself for being reduced to their level. But she'd worry about that later. God knows there was plenty of time to beat herself up...

"Listen pal," she said, managing to steady her voice, "I know all about the Diamonds' plan. Your sick little idea to wipe out all the Jews in the city. To proclaim your Master Race here in California. Well, not if I can help it."

She paused for a moment, allowing him a chance to answer. But he was silent.

So Pearl took a deep breath and jabbed him again. The scream shook her to her bones, but she kept at it.

"When is it happening?"

"I don't know."

She twisted the pen, causing him to cry out.

"I swear I don't know!" Malachite said, his bravado drained away, his face rapidly turning pale. "I swear...I'm only a gun-for-hire. Me and Jasper...we're from out-of-town. They brought us here on a job. Told us to tie up loose ends. Make them go away. I don't know...We're not supposed to be in town any longer than..."

He stopped himself, gasping for air. Pearl removed the pen from his shoulder, listening to a sickening slurp noise as she pulled it.

She felt another punch of nausea, but managed to steady herself.

"Maybe...it's already happening," Malachite blathered. "I don't know...They're already putting stuff in the water...If that's not a start...If that's not..."

His voice grew worker, his words more incoherent. Pearl looked at the pen, half-coated in the man's blood, and tossed it aside.

She didn't think she'd get anything out of him. All that cruelty for...what?

It took her a moment to remember Peridot. She forced herself off of Malachite, letting him sink down to the floor.

Walked over to Peridot, watching her blood spreading across the floor.

Pearl walked over to her, hoping against hope that she was alright.

But her eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, her mouth open in a puckered O.

Pearl looked down and saw a neat hole drilled through the detective's heart.

Her pistol was still locked into the palm of her hand. A literal death grip.

Pearl started to gag. She turned her head aside and vomited on the floor. Too much. Just too much.

Her head started to spin. She staggered over to the wall to steady herself.

She turned her head and saw Lapis, with a heavy bandage over her chest, standing over Malachite with a gun in her hand. Probably his.

"Did you tell her anything?" Lapis commanded, her voice a crisp bark. 

Malachite sputtered something unintelligible. Lapis pulled back the hammer on her gun.

"They've already started poisoning the water," she said, sighting down the barrel of her weapon. "A couple of weeks ago. Feeding enough arsenic and other things into the water so that it won't be detected. They tried using disease but they couldn't get access to the cultures they needed. Or they're too fucking stupid to figure them out...Either way, everything's already begun. They're just fitting all the pieces into place. And it will be over before you have a chance to put everything together." 

She didn't turn her gaze from Malachite, but Pearl sensed Lapis was talking to her. She turned and faced her, still struggling to steady herself. 

"But I guess you already knew most of that," Lapis continued. "And she did, too."

She. Peridot. 

Enough to make Lapis pause for a moment to collect herself. Her lips twitched with guilt and memory; Pearl wondered if she was about to cry. 

"You know what's going on tomorrow night?" she asked Pearl, finally turning her head. 

"Yes." Pearl said, remembering De Vries' plans. 

"Find a way to stop it," Lapis said flatly. 

It was a command, not a request. 

Which Lapis punctuated by shooting Malachite in the head. 

Lapis took a moment to impassively examine her handiwork. Then she dropped the weapon on the floor, before stealing another look at Pearl.

Her usual enigmatic expression. A face that hid a thousand emotions. 

Pearl had felt many things towards Lapis during their relationship, and after. But fear wasn't one of them. And yet here she was, terrified. 

Pearl nodded nervously. Lapis looked past her to Peridot, and her expression softened. And she sighed again.

Pearl thought she saw her start to tremble, the first inkling of a breakdown. 

Instead she walked down the hall, past the dead cop, back into her hospital room. 

For a long moment, Pearl stared uncomprehending at the horror scene before her. She heard more screams from around her, but they didn't register. They seemed like alien voices, coming from another plane. It was too much to take in. 

All Pearl knew was what she needed to do.

Stop them. 

But how? Just her? Without Rose...Or Peridot. 

 _Rose has friends,_ she reminded herself. _And so did Peridot._

And both of those thoughts gave her strength. And she had to tell herself that Rose was still out there, somewhere. 

And even if she weren't...it was more important than the two of them, just now. Much more important. 

Only now, with the worst of it over, did she notice that her blouse and her hands were completely covered in blood.


	23. Shallow

Rose didn't know how much time had passed. Maybe a few hours, maybe a few days.

All she knew is that she was trapped alone in a room. Not hers - a small guest room in the back of the house. No windows to climb out of, no phones to make calls, no pencil or paper to write messages. Only a small lamp, a queen-sized bed and a few pieces of furniture. Three small meals bused in on a silver tray by a grim servant. And one of her mother's security guards posted at the door, around the clock.

All she could do was think. When she was awake, that is.

Rose had the suspicion that her mother - her sweet, loving, attentive mother - had been drugging her. How else to account for the black smudges of time in her memory? The missing hours between meals?

The half-heard, whispered conversations outside that she managed to overhear.

Always whispers. That drove her mad.

Because she knew they were talking about her. And they didn't have enough respect for her to hide their conversations, to have them where she'd be totally oblivious.

She'd tried piecing together the contours of Bianca's plan, as best she could. Documents she remembered from the office, snatches of conversation from boring board meetings (God, she wished she had more of an attention span!), things she'd discussed with Amethyst and the others, with Greg, with Pearl...

Pearl. 

God, she wished Pearl was here.

It was a strange thought to have, maybe. How had she grown so close to her secretary in such a short time? Was she just seduced by the glamour of a movie star? The thrill of a confidant? Maybe she was just too easily swayed by a pretty face and a nice figure. It certainly wouldn't be the first time she'd fallen for someone, impulsively, unthinkingly...

And that was Rose's problem. So many of her thoughts were so intense, so deeply felt, so uncompromising - and so shallow. 

Both in politics and love. 

 _Shallow_.

So shallow she doubted herself, she doubted whether anything she felt was real.

Whether a crush was love, or something fleeting.

Whether Greg DeMayo, God bless him, still factored into the equation at all. Because Rose had found a new toy to play with, one prettier and more glamorous and more passionate than the paunchy, non-committed writer with the thinning hair and the fading career. 

Whether fighting fascism was really important, or just a trend she was following, like so many others. And how much she'd risk over something so ephemeral...

 _Pink Diamond_. The nickname echoed through her mind as she lay on her bed, staring at the wall.  

Not even **Red** \- not even a real, committed Communist, in their estimation. Just Pink. A dimmer, paler derivative. An amateur, a fellow traveler, a dupe. 

A useful idiot. 

Not a _real_ enemy, but a rich girl playing at revolution. 

Someone to mock, not to fear. 

Rose felt like crying. She wanted to hate herself, and everything stupid thing she ever thought or did. 

_It's time you dropped this schoolgirl silliness and realize where your interests really lie._

Azuria's words played back in her mind. Was she wrong? 

But the memory of her kiss with Pearl in a few nights before (if it was a few nights - who could tell?) echoed through her mind. It was one thing absolutely crystal clear.

It was the one thing, right now, that felt **real**.

And Rose remembered the secret Pearl shared with her that evening. How much it mattered. How everything that seemed abstract about her fight suddenly seemed _real_. 

And she smiled, despite herself. Realizing that if Pearl was real, she, too, was real.

And that she - both of them - still had work to do.   

Then the door creaked open, and her smile faded. 

* * *

 

Pearl spent several minutes knocking on the door of the Los Angeles Jewish League. She could tell people were in the office, and yet they weren't letting anyone in. The satchel of documents felt heavy in her hand.

"I know you're in there!" she shouted, realizing how futile it was. Peering through the window, straining to see whatever could possibly fit into her line of sight. As if straining and standing tiptoe made the window bigger, made the people inside closer. 

She would have laughed at the situation, if she hadn't just seen her friend die. 

Finally, after several minutes, someone appeared and cracked open the door. A well-dressed, serious woman, her face creased with worry and anger. 

"I'm sorry, ma'am, you'll have to leave," she said tersely. 

"No! I have something..."

"You have something, huh?" the woman said, hands on her hips. "What is it, sister? Some pamphlets on the International Jewish Conspiracy? A leaflet asking us to convert to Christianity or else? Maybe you've graduated to wholesale murder, huh? A bomb? A gun?"

The woman scanned Pearl, as if looking for an answer in her expression, in her body language. Pearl felt numb, not sure how to answer the onslaught.

"My...my name is Pearl White," she managed. "I'm a friend of Peridot's."

The woman scoffed, taking another long look at the woman before her, then whistled in astonishment.

"Thought you looked familiar," she said, nonplussed at the movie star in her midst. "Your pictures stink, honey."

"Well, at least you're honest," Pearl admitted, a little rattled by the comment.

"How do you know Peridot?" The suspicious tone hadn't left her voice. 

"It's a long story," Pearl insisted. "Now, if you don't mind...I have something from Peridot."

She gestured towards the satchel in her hand.

"Where is Peridot?" the woman asked.

"Dead."

Pearl was surprised at how blunt the comment came out. The woman's face went ashen white.

"That's supposed to make me let you in?" she demanded. 

"Well, if you don't, then the thing you discussed...the safe...it's too important for us to stand out here arguing about it." 

The woman stared warily at Pearl for a moment. Still trying to read her face, gauge her sincerity.

Finally, she shrugged and opened the door. 

"What the hell? If I die today, I won't have to deal with the monsters this weekend. But rest assured, if you try any funny stuff..."

"I left my sword at home," Pearl assured her.

"...Huh." The woman obviously wasn't expecting her to say **that**. 

She ushered Pearl into the office, a small maze of offices and reception areas. A pretty woman with jet black hair smiled at Pearl, a pinched, courteous grimace, either from recognition or reflex.

Pearl flashed the briefest smile back. If the woman didn't recognize Pearl before, she did now. Because her grimace spread into an open-mouthed grin.

"Annabelle Zircon," the woman said, leading Pearl into her office. "Sorry for being rude, Miss White. And suspicious. It's a busy time here, as you can probably imagine...I assume you've heard about what's going on this weekend..."

Pearl didn't hear the rest of her rambling explanation, most of which was known to her. Because she spotted a tall, serious-looking man with salt-and-pepper passing by, a pipe dangling from his lips.

His face regarded her quizzically for a moment, trying to puzzle something out. Then he approached her, a hand raised.

"Miss White! To what do we owe this pleasure?"

"It's, um, private business," she said, casting a glance at Annabelle. ''And you are?"

"Leon Lewis. I suppose you don't know me, but...let's just say we have a few things in common."

"What do you mean?"

"Miss White, who do you think you're fooling? I had you pegged for a _maidel_ the moment I first saw you onscreen. Oh yes, in glorious close-up the size of a house it's painfully obvious. Maybe I just have an eye for these things, I dunno. I've seen enough Jewish girls with cosmetic surgery that I could spot you from a mile away. I mean, you're less obvious than Fanny Brice, maybe, but..."

"Hold on a second," Annabelle said, doing a double-take between Pearl and Mr. Lewis. "Let me take a moment here. This is just..."

She collected her thoughts turned back to Pearl, who seemed frozen in something like terror. This news seemed more striking to her than the appearance of a movie star on her doorstep. 

"You're Jewish?" she said finally.

Pearl blushed.

"Why didn't you say so?" Annabelle cried. 

"I've...been asking myself that question for several years now," Pearl admitted, looking mortified.

"Huh. I've seen so many of your pictures and I didn't know..."

"I didn't want people to know."

"Well...it's something to be ashamed of now, is it?"

"In certain circles, it's not exactly acceptable..."

"I see. So, you sell out your people to make pictures."

"I wouldn't put it like that," Pearl said.

"Miss Zircon..." Mr. Lewis interjected.

"No, I'm going to say my piece here. I've seen enough of this shit, forgive my language, from people who come to this city, wanna make it big in movies or music or what have you and have to pretend they're someone else. _Have_ to pass as Gentile. Sometimes you even have to mutilate yourselves so you look good for the Or that's what you tell yourselves, anyway.

"Well, you know what? Jews are dying. Jews are dying overseas, getting clobbered by Hitler and friends all over Germany. Jews are trapped on boats in the ocean, sailing from one port to the next like something out of Matthew, unwanted by everyone. Hell, maybe you've noticed, it's not that safe to be a Jew here anymore! And yet, while you hide, some of us manage to go about being Jews, in the open, to wear it as a badge of honor. And then you show up and now you bother us..."

"Maybe this isn't a discussion we should have in this place, in this time," Lewis suggested gently.   

"There's a phrase I learned growing up," Annabelle said, her gaze still directed at Pearl, her expression acid. "Maybe you've heard it. _Shanda fur di goyim_. You shame us by pretending that it's a bad thing to be a Jew. That it's something to be ashamed of. That you have to hide it. A girl with your looks, and your talent, and your connections, and instead of embracing it, you pretend..."

"And what?" Pearl snapped. "What of it? I'm a coward, fine. I've only ever played a hero in the movies. Never claimed I was outside of that. Maybe I am _shanda_. That's not for me to say, Heaven knows I'm not observant. I know I think about it, dream about it, argue with myself about it all the time. But I've succeeded. It's worked for me. And I don't feel..."

Pearl was surprised at how defensive she was, how passionate her words were. Because she really didn't feel this strongly about it.

"Imagine if you'd succeeded as a Jew," Annabelle said quietly. 

"If I'd succeeded as a Jew...I'd have an even bigger target on me," Pearl said. And her words filled her with shame, burning her mouth as they escaped.

"I suppose," the attorney said.

Annabelle looked away, leaning over her desk. Her face no longer seemed angry, just...sad. Disappointed. Overwhelmed. Maybe at herself. Maybe at Pearl.

Mr. Lewis turned to Pearl and looked at her benignly. 

"Miss White, you're obviously here for a reason," he said, his tone businesslike, his face sad. "And with all due respect to my associate here-" Annabelle huffed at this "-I don't think that reason is because you want to debate the pitfalls of Jewish identity in a Gentile society."

Pearl thought about this, long and hard. Then she looked up and said, in a voice quiet and determined.

"I want to fight."

"Took you long enough," Annabelle said. 

"Some people aren't fighting at all," Lewis snapped. For the first time he seemed angry, rounding on her with an anger Pearl.

"Some _Jews_ aren't fighting," he lectured. "That's been our biggest struggle, getting anyone to take this seriously. Pelley and Kuhn and the rest of these _shtarkers_. And Lord knows, let's take all the help we can get. Especially glamorous movie stars."

He turned back to Pearl and the fatherly warmth returned. Pearl felt a shiver of comfort, handing him the satchel. He gently placed it on the desk and patted it with one hand.

"Now, tell us what we have here." 

* * *

 

"Now Starlight, I don't know what mischief you have planned for this weekend. But I just want to let you know that it's not appreciated. You and your rowdy little friends can play cops and robbers every once in awhile." 

Bianca was at her most reasonable, her most motherly, a gentle, judgmental condescension. The coldness of her words sent chills down Rose's spine. 

It reduced Rose to a child. And while she might stand up to her sisters...she didn't dare defy her mother. Even now.

"Mama...I'm not a little girl anymore."

"You could have fooled me, Rose," Bianca said with a disdainful chuckle. "The way you get so excited over everything little thing. A new movie, a new friend, a new cause, a new playmate at work..."

"Pearl is not..."

"It doesn't matter. I know I can't stop my daughters from pursuing who they want to pursue. As long as you're discreet, I've never minded that sort of thing."

She grinned, a sick parody of a smile that made Rose's heart stop.

"After all," she added, "even Herr Hitler had Ernst Rohm."

"Hitler _killed_ Ernst Rohm." The implied lesson, a threat sheathed in velvet, made Rose nauseous.

"What matters is that you don't do anything to embarrass the family," she continued, ignoring the backtalk. "We're the only major corporation in this country that's run entirely by women, and so the scrutiny on us is tenfold what it would be otherwise. We have to be absolutely correct in everything. Our dress, our look, our attitudes, our business practices...even our politics. Especially that. Do you understand?"   

"Yes, ma'am."

"And so, as long as it doesn't get in the papers what Rose Diamond does in her downtime...well, you're young. Still a little wild. Still my little Starlight. And hell, who knows? Maybe you taught some punks an important lesson. Maybe you help us more than you hurt. We can't always rely on the riff-raff to get ahead, can we? No, sometimes it needs...finesse. Planning. Care. Patience. Thought."

"What does?" 

"Oh Starlight," Bianca sighed. "Haven't I been teaching you that all these years? Don't you listen? Don't you read? Has _any_ of it sunk in? Apparently not." 

She regarded her daughter, studying her face, her eyes, trying to puzzle out the way to make a hard lesson sink in with a recalcitrant child.

Rose resented it, and yet here she sat. What more could she do? 

"We've been planning this for years. Planning the New Order. Forging all the connections, making all the friendships, however distasteful they are. How much money we've had to give. How many filthy hands we've had to shake."

"Well now," she said, leaning in towards Rose with that same hateful quasi-smile, "everything will be clean again."

It struck Rose, as she said this, that she'd never seen her mother this close before. At least not since she was a child. Close enough to see the creases in her makeup, the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, the saliva matted on her caked lips, the dandruff in her scalp.

And those eyes: wide, staring and terrifying, almost hypnotic in their mixture of coldness and reason, their mocking openness, waiting for a challenge that Rose couldn't deliver. 

All Rose could muster was a simple, vague defiance.

"I won't let you."

Bianca, naturally, laughed at this and turned away, walking across the room.

"It's too late," she said gently. "Things have already started. The overture's over, the movement has begun. Tomorrow things begin in earnest. Tomorrow a world riven with licentiousness and radicalism and all manner of disease is rendered pure and resolute."

"And we'll be at the forefront, Starlight," she said, her face lighting up at the prospect. "Organizers of the new order. Leading it. Directing it. Won't that be _marvelous_?"

"I'll fight you," Rose offered quietly.

"I'm not leaving anything to chance, mind you," Bianca said, "which is why you're here. And why you aren't leaving. And why I have Dr. Van Dyke coming to visit you tomorrow."

Rose froze at that, looking down at her feet.

"No."

"I'm afraid so, Rose."

Rose's mind raced in terror. Her stomach sank; her knees trembled, even as she sat. 

"And don't worry about your friends," Bianca continued. "We'll take care of them, too. All the little spics and kikes and wops you play around with won't be around any more. Oh, and your playmate." 

A sickening smile at this word, another chance to batter her daughter's defenses.

Rose, finally, looked up at her, face filled with hate.

"If you so much as touch Pearl...I will kill you with my own two hands."

Bianca didn't laugh at this. Instead she again brought her face close to Rose's, close enough to inhale her hot, odorless breath. She only uttered two flat, unresponsive words:

"We'll see."

Rose felt the pinch in her arm. Didn't realize what was happening until the warmth flooded through her body, weighing her down. She felt her Mother gently lowering her head to her pillow, a moist kiss on the forehead, as her vision blurred, her thoughts escaped her.  

"Get some sleep, Starlight," her mother's voice punctured through the mist. "Tomorrow belongs to us..."

Then everything went black.

 

 


End file.
